I 

1 

jp;  : 

® '■  SHI 


TWO  FOES 


-BY- 


"v  i ■ 

i 


Forbes  Heermans 


THE  PENN  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 
PHILADELPHIA 


SHOEMAKER’S 

BEST  SELECTIONS 

For  Readings  and  Recitations 

Numbers  I to  2 6 Now  Issued 

Paper  Binding,  each  number,  . • „ . 30  cents 
Cloth  > ,a  0 " . 50  cents 

Teachers,  Readers,  Students,  and  all  persons  who  j 
have  had  occasion  to  use  books  of  this  kind,  concede 
this  to  be  the  best  series  of  speakers  published.  The 
different  numbers  are  compiled  by  leading  elocutionists 
of  the  country,  who  have  exceptional  facilities  for  secur- 
ing selections,  and  whose  judgment  as  to  their  merits  is  , 
invaluable.  No  trouble  or  expense  is  spared  to  obtain 
the  very  best  readings  and  recitations,  and  much 
material  is  used  by  special  arrangement  with  other  pub-  ( 
lishers,  thus  securing  the  best  selections  from  such  1 
American  authors  as  Longfellow,  Holmes,  Whittier, 
Lowell,  Emerson,  Alice  and  Phoebe  Cary,  Mrs.  Stowe, 
and  many  others.  The  foremost  English  authors  are. 
also  represented,  as  well  as  the  leading  French  and  \ 
German  writers.  - | 

This  series  was  formerly  called  “The  Elocutionist’s  j 
Annual, M the  first  seventeen  numbers  being  published  f 
under  that  title.  \ 

While  the  primary  purpose  of  these  books  is  to 
supply  the  wants  of  the  public  reader  and  elocutionist, 
nowhere  else  can  be  found  such  an  attractive  collection 
of  interesting  short  stories  for  home  reading. 

Sold  by  all  booksellers  and  newsdealers,  or  mailed 
upon  receipt  of  price. 

THE  PENN  PUBLISHING  COMPANY  / 

923  Arch  Street,  Philadelphia 


1 


BETWEEN  TWO  FOES 


An  Original  War  Drama 

IN  FOUR  ACTS 


BY 

FORBES  HEERMANS 

Author  of  “Down  the  Black  Canon,”  “Love  by  Induction,” 
“ The  Vagabond,”  etc. 


Together  with  a description  of  the  costumes,  cast  of  the 
characters,  entrances  and  exits,  and  all  of  the 
stage  business 


Philadelphia 

The  Penn  Publishing  Company 

1901 


Copyright  1898  by  Forbes  Heermans 


Copyright  1899  BY  Forbes  Heermans 


Special  Notice. — This  play  has  been  duly  copyrighted,  and  is  printed 
for  the  use  of  amateurs  only,  who  may  act  it  without  charge.  Profes- 
sional managers  and  actors  are  expressly  forbidden,  under  penalty  of  the 
law,  to  make  use  of  it,  or  any  part  of  it,  in  any  manner  whatsoever,  with- 
out first  procuring  the  written  consent  of  the  author,  addressing  him  in 
care  of  the  publishers. 


<?/x 


Co 

X 


ARGUMENT  OF  THE  PLAY 

Heaven  has  no  rage  like  love  to  hatred  turned, 
Nor  hell  a fury  like  a woman  scorned. 


Congreve, 


r 

rl) 


\l 


"3 

O 


iC 


% 

3 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2017  with  funding  from 

University  of  Illinois  Urbana-Champaign  Alternates 


https://archive.org/details/betweentwofoesorOOheer 


Between  Two  Foes 


CAST  OF  CHARACTERS 

Colonel  Allan  Hastings,  U.  S.  A.,  on  Gen . Douglas's 
staff. 

Maj.-Gen.  John  Douglas,  commanding  2d  Div,  gth  Corps , 
U S.  A. 

Major  Robert  Stanley,  21st  Massachusetts  Cavalry. 
Colonel  Richard  Curtis,  of  the  Confederate  Army . 
Colonel  Whitney,  Asst.  Adft . Gen . on  Gen.  Douglas  s 
staff. 

George  Fleming,  M.  D.,  Medical  Director  on  Gen.  Doug- 
las s staff.  (May  be  doubled  by  Col.  Whitney.) 

Captain  Merrill,  Aide-de-camp  on  Gen.  Douglas's  staff. 
Captain  Thorpe,  Aide-de-camp  on  Gen.  Grant's  staff. 

Rev.  Henry  Arnold,  D.  D.,  an  old  Virginia  clergyman. 
Captain  Miles,  gth  Georgia  Cavalry , C.  S.  A.  (May  be 
doubled  by  Gen.  Douglas.) 

Captain  Brown,  Provost  Marshal  gth  Corps , U.  S.  A. 

(May  be  doubled  by  Major  Stanley.) 

Sergeant  Thayer,  jth  Georgia  Cavalry , C.  S.  A . 
Corporal  White,  U.  S.  A.  (May  be  doubled  by  Sergeant 
Thayer.) 

Orderly  Baker,  U.  S.  A. 

Frank  Johnson,  a Union  Scout.  (May  be  doubled  by 
Orderly  Baker.) 

Crane,  a Union  Telegraph  Operator. 

Agnes  Curtis  Hastings,  a Virginian ; wife  of  Colonel 
Hastings. 

Kate  Curtis,  a younger  sister  of  Agnes. 

Richard  Curtis  Hastings,  Agnes's  child , aged  about  three 
years.  (Not  a speaking  part.) 

In  addition  to  the  above  there  are  a number  of  non- 
speaking parts,  consisting  of  officers  of  Gen.  Douglas’s  staff 
and  command  ; Union  and  Confederate  soldiers  ; military 
band,  fifes  and  drums,  etc.  All  chiefly  necessary  for  forming 
the  various  tableaux  and  groups. 


Time  of  Representation — Two  hours  and  fifteen  minutes, 

5 


SYNOPSIS 


Act  I. 

In  Washington.  October,  1861.  “ A woman  scorned.” 

Act  II. 

In  Virginia.  April  8th,  1865.  Three  years  and  six 
months  elapse.  “ Heaven  has  no  rage  like  love  to  hatred 
turned.” 

Act  III. 

Encampment  of  General  Douglass  command.  April 
9th,  1865.  The  day  of  Lee’s  surrender.  “Nothing  but 
death  can  wipe  out  the  past.”  Too  late  ! 

Act  IV. 

The  grand  hall  in  the  old  Curtis  mansion.  The  next  day. 
The  end  of  the  war. 


COSTUMES 


Colonel  Allan  Hastings. 

An  officer  in  the  United  States  Army.  Age,  Act  I., 
about  30  years.  Act  I. — Full  dress  uniform  of  a staff 
captain.  Act  II. — The  very  ragged  and  muddy  field 
uniform  of  a colonel.  Act  III. — Same  as  Act  II.  Act 
IV. — A nearly  new  field  uniform  of  a colonel. 

Major-General  Douglas. 

An  officer  in  the  United  States  Army.  Age,  Act  I., 
about  55  years.  A handsome,  white-haired  and  white- 
moustached,  rosy-faced  man  ; sharp,  abrupt  manner,  but 
kind  hearted.  Act  I. — Full  dress  uniform  of  a major- 
general.  Act  III. — Field  uniform  of  a major-general  ; 
riding  boots,  sword,  and  overcoat.  Act  IV. — Same 
dress,  but  without  riding  boots  or  overcoat. 

Major  Robert  Stanley. 

A young  officer  of  the  21st  Massachusetts  Cavalry. 
Age,  Act  I.,  about  21  years.  He  is  slender  and  youth- 
ful looking  ; has  a lisp  or  drawl,  which  disappears 
partly.  Also,  at  first,  a general  appearance  of  effemi- 
nacy. Act  I. — Full  dress  uniform  of  a lieutenant  of 
cavalry,  with  sabre.  Act  II. — Field  uniform  of  a major 
of  cavalry,  muddy  and  worn.  Act  IV. — First  part. — 
Same  dress  as  in  Act  II.  Second  part. — A new  field 
uniform  of  a major. 

Colonel  Richard  Curtis. 

An  officer  in  the  Confederate  Army.  Brother  of  Agnes 
and  Kitty.  Age,  Act  I.,  about  30  years.  Act  I.— A 
cheap  suit  of  plain  clothes,  slouch  hat  and  false  beard. 
Act  III. — Trousers  of  Confederate  gray  ; white  linen 
shirt  and  collar,  but  no  coat,  waistcoat,  or  cap.  Act 
IV. — Field  uniform  of  a Confederate  colonel,  in  good 
condition. 

Colonel  Whitney. 

An  officer  on  Gen.  Douglas’s  staff.  Age,  Act  I., 
about  25  years.  Act  I. — Full  dress  uniform  of  a staff 
7 


BETWEEN  TWO  FOES 


captain.  Act  III. — Field  uniform  of  a colonel,  with 
overcoat,  boots  and  sword. 

Captain  Merrill. 

An  aide-de-camp  on  Gen.  Douglas’s  staff.  Age,  about 
26  years.  Field  uniform  of  a staff  captain  ; riding 
boots,  sword  ; no  overcoat.  Muddy. 

Captain  Thorpe. 

An  aide-de-camp  on  Gen.  Grant’s  staff.  Age,  about  30 
years.  Act  III. — Field  uniform  of  a staff  captain. 
Overcoat,  riding  boots  ; all  very  muddy. 

George  Fleming,  M.  D. 

Medical  Director  on  Gen.  Douglas’s  staff.  Age, 
about  50  years.  Act  IV. — The  held  uniform  of  a sur- 
geon of  his  rank. 

Captain  Miles. 

An  officer  of  the  5th  Georgia  Cavalry,  C.  S.  A.  Age, 
about  25  years.  Act  II. — Field  uniform  of  a Confeder- 
ate captain  of  cavalry,  with  boots,  overcoat  and  sabre. 
All  very  much  worn  and  muddy. 

Captain  Brown. 

Acting  Provost  Marshal,  U.  S.  A.  Age,  about  30 
years.  Act  III. — Undress  uniform  of  an  infantry 
captain,  with  side  arms.  All  in  good  condition. 

Sergeant  Thayer. 

Of  the  5th  Georgia  Cavalry,  C.  S.  A.  Age,  about  35 
years.  Act  II. — Uniform  of  a Confederate  sergeant  of 
cavalry  ; muddy  and  worn.  Overcoat,  boots,  sabre  and 
carbine. 

Corporal  White. 

A corporal  of  infantry,  U.  S.  A.  Age,  about  25  years. 
Act  III. — Field  uniform  of  a corporal  of  infantry,  in 
good  condition.  Musket  and  all  accoutrements.  No 
overcoat. 

Orderly  Baker. 

General  Douglas’s  orderly.  Age,  about  40  years. 
Very  stiff  and  military  in  his  bearing.  For  all  acts,  the 
uniform  of  an  orderly  private. 

Frank  Johnson. 

A Union  scout.  A tall,  lank,  round-shouldered  man 
of  40  years.  Got  up  to  look  like  a Southerner.  Act 
8 


BETWEEN  TWO  FOES 


III. — A ragged  suit,  half  civilian,  half  Confederate 
private. 

Crane. 

Telegraph  operator,  U.  S.  A.  Age,  25  years.  Act 
III. — The  uniform  of  a private  of  infantry.  Overcoat, 
but  no  accoutrements. 

Union  Sentry. 

A private  of  infantry.  All  acts  : Regulation  uniform 
of  a private,  with  overcoat  musket  and  all  accoutre- 
ments except  knapsack. 

Rev.  Henry  Arnold,  D.  D. 

An  old  Virginia  clergyman.  Age,  about  55  or  60 
years.  White  hair,  smoothly  shaven  face.  A simple, 
kindly,  lovable  old  man,  the  uncle  of  Richard  Curtis, 
Agnes  and  Kitty.  Acts  II.,  III.  and  IV. — A suit  of 
rusty  black,  clerical  cut,  much  worn. 

Agnes  Curtis  Hastings. 

The  wife  of  Colonel  Hastings  ; a Virginian  ; sister  of 
Richard  and  Kitty  Curtis,  and  niece  of  Henry  Arnold. 
Age,  Act  I.,  about  25  years.  Act  I. — A handsome 
evening  dress  of  white  silk,  en  train  j low  neck  and 
short  sleeves  ; flowers  at  corsage.  Act  II. — A worn 
gown  of  rusty  black,  white  apron.  Act  IV. — Same 
dress  as  in  Act  II.,  less  apron.  A cheap  hat. 

Kitty  Curtis. 

A pretty  ingenue.  Age,  Act  I.,  about  17  years. 
Speaks  with  a marked  Southern  accent.  Act  I. — A 
handsome  evening  dress,  of  some  thin  white  material, 
with  a broad  silk  sash  ; long  sleeves,  high  in  neck,  no 
train.  Such  a dress  as  a girl  of  17  would  wear  even- 
ings. Act  II. — A worn  gown  of  some  cheap  brown 
stuff;  white  apron.  Act  IV. — Same  as  Act  II.;  an 
apron  ; cheap  straw  hat. 

Little  Dick  Hastings. 

Son  of  Allan  and  Agnes  Hastings.  A child  of  three 
years.  Has  nothing  to  say  ; must  appear  very  weak 
and  ill.  Some  soft  white  dress,  suitable  for  a child  of  his 
age. 

Union  and  Confederate  officers,  soldiers,  and  Union 
military  band,  all  in  uniforms  indicating  their  rank  and 
army. 


9 


PROPERTY  PLOT 


Act  I. — Coffee  pot,  liqueurs,  decanter  of  brandy,  etc.,  on 
table  at  rise  of  curtain  ; newspaper  for  orderly  ; sword,  mili- 
tary cloak  and  cap  for  Kitty  ; Fair  tickets  for  Hastings  ; 
pistol  for  Curtis  ; tin  box  with  papers  inside  on  table  ; red 
fire  to  burn  off  C.  in  flat. 

Act  II. — Cut  wood,  candle,  five  eggs  and  old  blue  blouse 
for  Arnold  ; dishes,  frying  pan  and  musket  for  Kitty  ; 
decanter  and  glasses  on  tray  on  side  table  ; vial  of  poison  for 
Hastings  ; shots  off  c.  near  end  of  act. 

Act  III. — Papers  for  Capt.  Thorpe,  map  and  papers  for 
Douglas  ; bandage  for  Provost  Marshal  ; telegram  for 
Operator. 

Act  IV. — Books,  surgical  instrument  case,  papers,  sword 
and  belt,  etc.,  on  table  at  rise  of  curtain  ; pail  of  water  and 
dipper  for  Kitty. 


io 


SCENE  PLOT 


Act  I 

Flat,  showing  view  of  Pennsylvania  Avenue  and  the  Capitol. 


c.  window,  practicable. 


i.  Piano.  2.  Sofa.  3.  Fireplace.  4.  Table.  5.  Chair. 


Scene — A handsomely  furnished  drawing-room  in  the 
apartments  of  Captain  Hastings,  occupying  the  ground  floor 
of  a house  in  or  near  Pennsylvania  Avenue,  Washington, 
D.  C.  The  time  is  October,  1 86 1 ; hour,  7.30  P.  M.  It  is 
the  evening  of  the  day  of  the  disastrous  Union  defeat  at 
Ball’s  Bluff,  Va. 

A deep  alcove  is  at  upper  end  of  stage,  with  a practicable 
window,  through  which  can  be  seen  Pennsylvania  Avenue 
and  a distant  view  of  the  Capitol,  with  moonlight  effects. 
Also,  near  close  of  the  act  is  seen  the  blaze  of  a burning 
building,  about  a mile  away. 

Piano  at  right  ; fireplace  at  left  ; costly  furniture,  rugs, 
curtains,  lamps,  etc.,  etc.  Doors  L.  1 E.,  L.  3 E.,  R.  2 E. 

11 


#2£ 


BETWEEN  TWO  FOES 


Act  II 


Window,  r.  c.  c.d. 


i.  Crib.  2.  Chair.  3.  Rocking-chair.  4.  Table.  5.  Fireplace. 


Scene — A room  in  the  house  of  the  Rev.  Henry  Arnold, 
D.  D.,  situated  near  Lynchburg,  Campbell  Co.,  Virginia. 
Time,  April  8th,  1865,  or  the  day  preceding  Lee’s  surrender 
at  Appomattox.  Three  years  and  a half  have  elapsed  since 
the  first  act.  The  hour  is  about  8 P.  M. 

Doors  at  R.  2 E.,  L.  3 E.  and  at  centre  in  flat.  A recessed 
window  with  curtains  at  R.  C.  A large,  old-fashioned  fire- 
place of  brick  at  L.  1 E.,  supplied  with  a crane,  fire-dogs,  etc. 
The  room  is  plainly  furnished  in  the  early  Colonial  style. 
Everything  should  give  evidence  of  extreme  destitution, 
where  once  had  been  wealth  and  ease. 


12 


BETWEEN  TWO  FOES 


Act  III 


Flat  showing  encampment  and  Virginia  landscapes. 


Scene — The  encampment  of  the  2d  Division,  5th  Army- 
Corps,  detached  from  Sheridan’s  army  ; Maj.-Gen.  Douglas, 
commanding.  The  camp  is  situated  about  ten  miles  from 
Appomattox  Court  House,  Virginia.  Date,  April  9th,  1865, 
that  is,  the  day  following  Act  II.,  and  also  the  day  of 
Lee’s  surrender.  Hour,  just  before  sunrise. 

Stage  is  clear,  except  at  L.  3 E.  is  the  tent  of  Gen.  Douglas  ; 
and  close  to  it,  down,  is  a small  portable  table,  with  tele- 
graph instruments,  field  electric  batteries,  etc.  A telegraph 
wire  stretches  across  stage  about  ten  feet  in  air,  from  the 
table  to  off  right.  The  back  cloth  is  painted  to  show  the 
camp. 


*3 


L2  E 


BETWEEN  TWO  FOES 


Act  IV 

[ Sentry. J 


c.  D. 


Scene — The  great  hall  of  the  Curtis  mansion,  situated  a 
few  miles  from  Appomattox  Court  House.  The  house  is 
now  being  used  by  General  Douglas  as  his  headquarters. 

The  stage  shows  a deep  room,  with  a wide  door  at  centre 
of  flat,  through  which  can  be  seen  a green  lawn,  thickly 
planted  with  flowers  and  blossoming  shrubs  ; and  beyond 
this  a glimpse  of  the  turnpike.  Starting  at  about  the  third 
grooves  on  the  left  is  an  old-fashioned  staircase,  with  a land- 
ing up  about  six  steps.  Opening  into  the  hall  are  other 
doors,  one  at  R.  2 E.,  L.  i E.  and  L.  3 E.  An  old-fashioned 
fireplace  at  R.  1 E.  The  woodwork  and  furniture  all  in  the 
early  Colonial  style.  Everything  solid  and  handsome, 
though  much  worn  and  battered. 

Date  of  act,  April  10th,  1865,  that  is,  one  day  after  the 
third  act.  Hour,  just  before  sunset.  At  the  opening  the 
warm  glow  of  bright  sunshine  is  seen  upon  the  landscape 
through  C.  D.,  but  this  gradually  changes  into  a richly 
colored  sunset  as  the  act  progresses,  and  at  the  final  curtain 
a soft  gray  twilight  illumines  the  room, 

14 


MUSIC  REQUIRED 


OVERTURE 

A medley  of  familiar  patriotic  airs,  current  during  the 
war,  such  as  John  Brown’s  Body  ; Tramp,  Tramp,  Tramp  ; 
Battle  Cry  of  Freedom  ; When  This  Cruel  War  is  Over  ; 
When  Johnny  Comes  Marching  Home;  Hail  Columbia; 
Star  Spangled  Banner  ; Red,  White  and  Blue  ; Do  They 
Miss  Me  at  Home. 

OTHER  INCIDENTAL  MUSIC 

The  Girl  I Left  Behind  Me,  by  fifes  and  drums  ; The  Blue 
Bells  of  Scotland,  by  four  or  five  pieces  of  brass  and  wood 
wind.  Dead  March  in  Saul,  to  be  played  by  a good-sized 
military  brass  band,  if  possible.  If  not,  then  as  large  a corps 
of  fifes  and  drums,  with  drums  muffled,  as  possible. 

BUGLE  CALLS 

Reveille;  Assembly;  “Taps,”  or  Extinguish  Lights;  To 
Arms  ; The  General  ; Forward,  fours  right. 

FIFES  AND  DRUMS 

Reveille  ; The  General ; Long  Roll ; Dead  March. 


BETWEEN  TWO  FOES 


ACT  I. 

SCENE. — A handsomely  furnished  drawing-room  in  the 
apartments  of  Captain  Hastings,  occupying  the  ground 
floor  of  a house  in  or  7iear  Pennsylvania  Avenue,  Wash- 
ington, D.  C.  The  tune  is  October , 1 86 1 ; the  hour , 7.30 
p.  m.  It  is  the  evening  of  the  day  of  the  disastrous 
Union  defeat  at  Balls  Bluff,  Va.  A deep  alcove  is  at  the 
upper  end  of  stage,  with  a practical  window  through 
which  can  be  seen  Pennsylvania  Avenue  and  a distant 
view  of  the  Capitol,  with  moonlight  effects . Also,  near 
close  of  the  act  is  seen  the  blaze  of  a burning  building , 
about  a mile  away.  Piano  at  right:  fireplace  at  left ; 
costly  furniture,  rugs,  curtains,  lamps , etc.,  etc.  Doors 
L.  1 E.,  L.  3 E.,  R.  2 E.  See  scene  plot  for  details. 

( Curtain  discovers  stage  clear.  Outside  of  ce7itre  wuidow 
are  heard  the  mingled  noises  of  a great  city  j street  car 
bells , rumbluig  of  wag07is,  murmuring  of  voices, 
a7id  particularly  the  shouts  of  7iewsboys  calling  the 
evs7iuig  papers.  These  latter  sounds  are  heard  very 
fauitly  at  first , but  rapidly  grow  louder,  as  if  the  voices 
are  approaching ; the7i  diminish  as  rapidly,  and  so 
fi7ially  die  away  in  the  dista7ice.) 

First  Voice  (< at  a distance ).  Ix-tree  ! — 0-z;r-tree  ! ! 
Second  Voice  {very  7iear).  ILx-tree  / — Battle  o’  Ball's 
Bluff  ! — Ex-tree  ! 

Third  Voice  (, dwtinuendo ).  Ix-tree  ! — 0-z;r-tree  ! — Ix- 

tree  / 

{While  the  voices  are  rapidly  dying  away  in  the  dista7ice, 
e7iter  General  Douglas  and  Allan  Hastings,  l.  3 e. 
They  cross  slowly  to  small  table  at  R.  on  line  of  2 d 
grooves , on  which  are  coffee  pot , cups , liqueurs , etc . 

2 17 


BETWEEN  TWO  FOES 


During  following  scene  they  pour  and  sip  their  coffee , 

talk , perhaps  smoke . It  must  be  made  evident  that  both 

men  are  on  friejidly , almost  affectionate  terms .) 

Douglas.  It  is  perfectly  understood  then,  Allan,  that 
you  are  now  a member  of  my  staff  ? 

Hastings.  Yes,  General,  and  I thank  you  most  ear- 
nestly for  the  confidence  you  have  shown  me  in  this  appoint- 
ment. 

Douglas.  Pooh  ! pooh  ! why  shouldn’t  I have  confidence 
in  you  ? Haven’t  I known  you  since  you  were  born  ? 
Wasn’t  your  father  the  best  friend  to  me  that  ever  a man 
had  ; and  when  I held  him  dying  in  my  arms  at  the  storming 
of  Chapultepec,  did  he  not  give  you  to  me  ? (Emotion.)  I 
say  he  did ! I have  looked  upon  you  since  that  day  as  my 
own  son. 

Hastings.  And  trouble  enough  I’ve  caused  you,  too,  sir, 
I fear. 

Douglas  ( laughing  gently ).  Well,  well,  I must  say  you 
have  not  been  exactly  a sinecure,  my  boy  ; but  then,  I de- 
spise a milk-sop.  (Allan  offers  him  brandy  for  coffee .) 
No,  no  brandy  for  me,  thanks.  I never  touch  it.  Just  plain 
coffee — an  old  soldier’s  drink. 

Hastings.  No  one  ever  called  me  a milk-sop  yet,  Gen- 
eral. 

Douglas  (laughing).  I’ll  be  sworn  he  never  did  but 
once,  anyhow.  (More  gravely.)  No,  Allan,  your  fault  has 
always  been  in  the  opposite  direction. 

Hastings.  I don't  understand,  sir  ? 

Douglas.  I mean  that  you  are  too  fiery,  too  hot-tem- 
pered ; just  like  your  poor  father.  I hoped  once  that  the 
severe  training  of  the  West  Point  school  would  teach  you 
that  perfect  self-control  which  is  so  necessary  in  a soldier  and 
a gentleman. 

Hastings.  I think  it  has,  sir. 

Douglas.  Not  in  everything.  I’m  speaking  to  you  now 
as  if  you  were  my  own  son,  Allan. 

Hastings.  Pray  go  on,  sir. 

Douglas  (slowly).  Hm — well,  are  you  not — er — some- 
times a little — er — it’s  deuced  hard  to  say  this — a little  hasty 
or  something — with  Agnes  ? 

Hastings  (with  so?ne  heat).  My  wife  ! Must  we  bring 
her  into  this  discussion  now,  General  ? 

Douglas  (quietly).  You  see.  You  prove  my  case  your- 
self. The  simple  mention  of  her  name  sends  you  into  a 
blaze  at  once. 

18 


BETWEEN  TWO  FOES 


Hastings  {warmly).  No  man  ever  loved  his  wife  as  I 
love  mine,  sir. 

Douglas.  My  boy,  I know  it,  but  may  you  not  sometimes 
carry  even  this  too  far  ? 

Hastings  {coldly).  I don’t  understand. 

Douglas  ( with  hesitation ).  Well,  it  is  a little  difficult  to 
explain,  but — that  is,  I mean — well,  Agnes  Hastings  is  a 
brilliant  and  beautiful  woman — 

Hastings  {quickly).  She  is  ! 

Douglas.  A Southerner,  too,  and  naturally  likes  to  see 
about  her  men  of  her  own  state. 

Hastings.  But  I do  not  object  to  this. 

Douglas.  We-ell,  I have  sometimes  thought  you  did. 

Hastings  {as  if  offended).  In  short,  you  think  I am 
jealous  of  my  wife. 

Douglas.  No,  no,  no,  no  ! Not  jealous,  exactly,  but — 
well — try  and  put  yourself  in  her  place  a little  more,  that’s 
what  I mean.  Remember  that  her  position  here  now,  bound 
by  indissoluble  ties  of  blood  and  marriage  to  both  the  North 
and  the  South,  is  a very  difficult  one.  You’re  not  offended  at 
what  I’ve  said,  my  boy  ? 

Hastings  {coldly).  On  the  contrary,  sir,  very  grateful. 
You  have  indeed  treated  me  like  a son — a Prodigal  Son 
almost. 

Douglas  {aside).  The  boy  is  angry  again.  That  un- 
happy temper  of  his  will  surely  get  him  into  trouble  some 
day,  if  he  doesn’t  learn  to  control  it.  (Aloud,  calling.) 
Orderly! 

(Enter  Orderly,  l.  i e.  He  salutes  and  stands  there  at 
“ Attention .”) 

Hastings  (in  pleasanter  tone).  And  when  shall  we 
get  our  marching  orders,  General  ? 

Douglas.  Not  for  a week  yet,  the  Secretary  of  War  told 
me  to-day. 

Hastings.  Not  for  a week  ! 

Douglas.  Don't  be  in  a hurry  to  leave  Washington,  my 
boy,  for  it  will  be  many  long  months  before  we  see  it  again. 

Hastings.  Yet  I cannot  help  thinking,  sir,  that  with 
McClellan  and  the  Army  of  the  Potomac  on  the  Peninsula, 
one  decisive  battle  there  must  give  us  Richmond.  If  he 
only  would  fight  ! 

VOICE  ( without , very  distinctly).  Ex-tree  ! Ex-tree  ! Big 
battle  ! Ex-tree  ! 

Douglas.  Listen!  (Both  in  attitude  of  attention.) 

VOICE  (very  distinctly).  Ex-tree  ! Full  account — Battle 
19 


BETWEEN  TWO  EOES 


o*  Ball’s  Bluff!  List  o’  killed  an’  wounded  ! Here  ye  are, 
on’y  ten  cents  ! Battle  o’  Ball’s  Bluff — on’y  ten  cents  ! 
E: r-tree  ! 

Douglas.  The  battle  has  been  fought  ! Orderly,  get  me 
a paper  at  once.  ( Exit  Orderly,  hurriedly  L.  i e.)  I hope 
this  is  not  another  Union  defeat  ! ( Paces  up  and  down.) 

Hastings.  How  can  it  be  possible  ? 

Douglas  (sharply).  So  they  said  at  Bull’s  Run,  and 
yet — 

Voice  (without).  Extree  ! Extree  ! Ball’s  Bluff! 

Douglas  ( impatiently ).  Curse  that  fellow  ! Why 
doesn’t  he  hurry  ? (Enter  Orderly,  l.  i e.  hurriedly , 
with  paper.)  Quick!  Let  me  have  it.  (Reads.)  “Disas- 
trous Union  defeat  at  Ball’s  Bluff  ! Colonel  Baker  killed  ! 
General  Stone’s  command  annihilated  ! Washington  once 
more  in  danger  ! ” (Speaks.)  Will  this  thing  never  end  ? 
( Walks  about  excitedly .) 

Hastings  (taking paper).  An  official  despatch  ! It  must 
be  true  ! 

Douglas.  Captain,  I’m  going  to  the  War  Department  at 
once. 

Hastings.  I will  go  with  you,  sir. 

Douglas.  No,  I’ll  take  my  Orderly.  You  and  Agnes 
were  going  to  the  Soldiers’  Fair  at  the  city  hall  this  evening  ? 

Hastings.  Yes,  but  as  your  Aide  I go  with  you  now, 
sir. 

Douglas.  No,  no,  go  to  the  fair  by  all  means.  I shall 
not  want  you  to-night.  But  report  to  me  at  seven  to-mor- 
row morning. 

Hastings.  Very  well,  sir. 

Douglas.  Good-night,  Captain. 

Hastings.  Good-night,  General.  (They  salute.) 

Douglas.  Orderly  ! 

(Exeunt  Douglas  and  Orderly,  l.  i e.) 

Hastings  ( walking  up  and  down  nervously).  If  they 
would  only  send  us  to  the  front,  where  at  least  we  might  be 
busy  ! This  helpless  idleness  is  maddening. 

(Agnes  sings  off  r.  a few  bars  of  “ The  Blue  Bells  of 
Scotland.") 

Hastings.  Agnes!  (Hastings  opens  door  r.  and  adynits 
Agnes.  He  leads  her  gallantly  down  to  C.  F.,  and  kisses 
her  hand.) 

Agnes  (archly).  Only  my  hand,  dearest  ? 

20 


BETWEEN  TWO  FOES 


Hastings.  Nay,  that  is  but  a beginning.  Too  much 
happiness  at  once  is  dangerous.  ( Kisses  her  cheek.') 

Agnes.  But  some  men  would  be  willing  to  risk  every- 
thing— for  a kiss. 

Hastings.  And  I too,  sweetheart,  but  now  I can  get  it 
for  just  the  asking.  Nay,  without  even  that.  ( Kisses  her. 
They  sit  by  fireplace , she  on  a low  stool , with  her  elbow 
resting  on  his  knee . He  strokes  her  hair  tenderly .)  Look 
at  me,  dearest.  Why,  you  are  crying  ! 

Agnes  [slowly).  I — I — am  afraid  I am — a little,  Allan 
dear.  I feel  so — so  unhappy  to-night. 

Hastings.  Unhappy,  my  darling  ! Remember  you  are 
a soldier’s  wife,  now. 

Agnes.  It  is  that  which  makes  me  so  sad. 

Hastings.  Tell  me  why,  dearest  ? 

Agnes.  I am  a Southerner — a Virginian  ; you  are  an 
officer  in  the  Northern  army.  All  my  friends — my  kinsfolk 
— my  only  brother — now  are  fighting — and  dying — for  the 
cause  of  the  South. 

Hastings.  A most  unholy  cause,  Agnes. 

Agnes  [earnestly).  They  think  it  is  a just  one.  ( Changing 
tone.)  But  the  dreadful  fear  that  haunts  me  night  and  day 
is  that  the  time  may  come  when  you  and  my — brother  shall 
meet  in  battle,  and  that  one — of — you — may — cause — the — 
other’s  death.  The  thought  is  horrible  ! [Weeps.) 

Hastings.  Nay,  dearest,  what  you  fear  can  never 
happen  ! The  war  will  be  over  in  a few  months. 

Agnes.  Ah,  you  know  not  what  you  say.  The  war  will 
be  long  and  bloody.  I know  the  Southern  people — they  will 
never  yield  as  long  as  there  is  a man — aye,  or  woman  or 
child — left  to  fight. 

[Enter  Kitty,  l.  3 e.,  very  suddenly .) 

Kitty.  Oh,  my  goodness  ! Excuse  me  ! I didn’t  know 
you  were — busy.  [Turns  away .)  You  can  go  on,  now.  I’m 
not  looking. 

Hastings  [laughmg).  Don’t  be  alarmed,  Kitty.  Agnes 
and  I are  only  in  love.  (Hastings  and  Agnes  rise.) 

Kitty.  In  love  ! How  absurd  ! Why,  you’re  married  ! 

Agnes.  Yes,  dear,  but  we’re  in  love  still. 

Hastings.  We’re  going  to  the  Soldiers’  Fair  to-night, 
Kitty.  Will  you  promise  to  be  a good  girl  if  we  leave  you 
at  home  ? 

Kitty.  No,  indeed  ! You  know  I’m  so  emotional  that  it 
really  isn’t  safe  to  leave  me  here  alone. 

Agnes.  I think  we  can  trust  you  this  time,  Kitty, 

II 


BETWEEN  TWO  FOES 


Hastings  ( looking  at  clock).  Half-past  seven  ! Will 
you  get  ready  now,  dearest  ? 

Agnes.  Yes,  it  will  not  take  me  long. 

{He  leads  her  to  R.  door . As  she  goes  off  she  turns  and 

kisses  her  hand  to  him.  He  returns  the  salute , and 

stands  at  the  door  looking  after  her.  Kitty  mimics  himt 

laughingly .) 

Kitty.  Say,  Allan  ! (Louder.)  Allan  ! 

Hastings.  Eh  ! (Turns.)  What  is  it,  Kitty  ? 

Kitty.  Where’s  Bob  ? 

Hastings.  Eh  ! Bob  ? 

Kitty.  Um-mm  ! 

Hastings.  Oh,  you  mean  Lieutenant  Robert  Stanley  ! 

Kitty  (mimicking).  Oh,  I mean  Lieutenant  Robert 
Stanley,  do  I ? Well,  I call  him  just  plain  Bob.  Where  is 
he? 

Hastings  (laughing).  I haven’t  the  least  idea. 

Kitty  (petulantly).  Well,  it’s  very  provoking  ! He 
promised  to  be  here  at  seven-thirty  sharp,  and  he’s  three 
minutes  late  already.  He’s  never  prompt. 

Hastings  (amused).  He’ll  have  to  be  prompt,  now  he’s  a 
soldier. 

Kitty.  Yes,  that’s  just  what  I tell  him.  ( Complacently .) 
He’s  in  love  with  me,  you  know. 

Hastings  (amused).  What  ! In  love  with  you  ? 

Kitty.  Um-m  ! 

Hastings.  Allow  me  to  congratulate  you,  Kitty  ! You’ll 
ask  us  to  the  wedding,  won’t  you  ? 

Kitty.  Oh,  I’m  not  going  to  marry  him  ! 

Hastings.  Indeed  ! Why  not  ? 

Kitty.  Because  he’s  a Yankee,  and  I’m  a Virginian. 

Hastings  (gravely).  I’m  sorry  you  think  that  is  an 
objection. 

Kitty.  Well,  it  is  ; a right  smart  one,  too. 

Hastings.  Then  you  have — refused  him  ? 

Kitty.  No,  he  hasn’t  asked  me  yet ; but  I’m  going  to 
refuse  him — when  he  does. 

Hastings  (amused).  But  how  do  you  know  he  loves 
you,  then  ? 

Kitty.  Oh,  you  can  always  tell.  Men  are  such  idiots 
when  they’re  in  love. 

Hastings.  Was  I ? 

Kitty.  Oh,  yes  ! You  were  simply  the  worst  I ever  saw 
— next  to  Bob.  Hark  ! There  he  comes  ! 

Hastings.  How  do  you  know  ? 

22 


BETWEEN  TWO  FOES 


Kitty.  Heard  him  trip  over  his  sword.  He’s  always 
doing  it.  I’ll  hide.  Don’t  tell  him  I’m  here. 

{She  hides  up.  Stanley  knocks , L.  i E.) 

Hastings.  Come  in  ! 

{Enter  Stanley,  l.  i e.) 

Stanley.  Er — g-good-evening,  Cap — {Stumbles  over 
sword.)  Ah,  do  you  know,  I think  your  carpet  is  a little 
loose  over  there,  don’t  you  know  ? Hope  Mrs.  Hastings  is 
quite  well,  yes  ? 

Hastings.  Quite,  thank  you. 

Stanley.  Er — that’s  nice,  yes.  Er — Miss  Kitty  any- 
wheres about  ? Not  that  I care  to  see  her,  you  know,  only 
just  thought  I’d  ask.  Civil  thing  to  do,  ask,  don’t  you  know. 
He,  he  ! Yes. 

Kitty  {to  Hastings).  Don’t  you  dare  tell  him  I’m  here. 

Hastings  {to  Kitty).  Aha,  you  little  rebel,  I’ve  got  you 
now  ! {Aloud.)  Oh,  yes,  she’ll  be  here  directly.  Pray  be 
seated. 

Stanley  {sitting).  Tha-anks. 

Hastings.  And  you’ll  pardon  me  now  if  I leave  you  for  a 
moment,  Mr.  Stanley  ? 

Stanley.  Oh,  certainly — with  pleasure.  No,  no,  I don’t 
mean  that — I — mean — oh,  certainly,  yes. 

Hastings  {to  Kitty).  Spare  his  life,  Kitty. 

{Exit  L.  i E.) 

Stanley  {to  front).  When  a fellah — when  a fellah  goes 
and  falls  in  love  he  always  makes  an  ass  of  himself.  And 
when  a fellah  falls  in  love  with  a girl  who  won’t  have  him,  he 
makes  two  asses  of  himself.  And  when  a fellah  tries  to  tell  a 
girl  he  loves  her  when  he  knows  she  won’t  have  him,  he 
makes  half-a-dozen  asses  of  himself.  And  that’s  me.  What 
would  my  mother  say  if  she  knew  I was  making  half-a-dozen 
asses  of  myself?  By  Jove  ! I won’t  do  it  ! 

[Starts  Ij. put  is  stopped  by  Kitty,  who  rushes  down  from 

behind  screen.  She  has  buckled  a sword  about  her , 

thrown  a military  cloak  over  her  shoulders , and  wears  a 

7nilitary  cap.  She  draws  sword.) 

Kitty.  Halt  1 

Stanley.  How-de-do,  Miss  Kitty  ? 

Kitty.  Who  goes  there  ? 

Stanley.  N-nobody. 

Kitty.  Advance,  Nobody,  and  give  the  countersign. 

23 


BETWEEN  TWO  EOES 


Stanley.  But  I — I don’t  know  it,  don’t  you  know. 

Kitty  {waving  sword).  Turnout  the  guard  ! ’Tention, 
cum’ney  ! Carry — hums  ! Shoulder — hums  ! Forward — 
hums  ! ( Marches .)  Hum  ! — hum  ! — hum  ! hum  ! hum  ! 
Halt  ! Fix — bag’nets  ! Charge — hums  ! ( She  lowers  point 
of  sword , and  rushes  at  Stanley  ; he  jumps  out  of  the 
way.) 

Stanley  ( nervously ).  I say,  there,  don’t  you  know,  look 
out  ! 

Kitty.  Do  you  surrender  ? 

Stanley.  Yes,  Miss  Kitty — to  you. 

Kitty.  Hurrah  ! I’ve  captured  a live  Yankee  at  last. 
Stanley.  Oh,  you  captured  me  a long  time  ago,  don’t 
you  know. 

Kitty.  I reckon  that’s  so.  Shake  hands.  ( They  shake.) 
Stanley.  T-thank  you. 

{Enter  Agnes,  r.,  with  cloak , gloves , etc.) 

Kitty.  Won’t  you  sit  down,  Mr.  Stanley  ? You  look 
uncomfortable. 

Stanley.  Well,  I — I — am — rather,  yes. 

Agnes  {laughing).  Mr.  Stanley  ! It’s  mutiny  to  talk  like 
that  before  a pretty  girl. 

Kitty.  Two  pretty  girls,  Agnes.  You  forget  I’m  here. 
{She  goes  to  mirror,  and  arranges  her  cap.  To  Agnes.) 
Agnes,  dear,  won’t  you  leave  us  alone,  just  for  a minute  ? 
I’ve  got  something  very  particular  to  say  to  him. 

Agnes  {to  Kitty,  laughing).  Will  that  be  quite  safe — 
for  him  ? 

Kitty  {to  Agnes).  Oh,  I reckon  ! He  surely  knows  how 
to  run  away. 

Agnes  {to  Kitty).  Well,  you  shall  have  just  three  min- 
utes. Tell  Allan  I’m  in  there.  {To  Stanley)  Au  revoir, 
monsieur. 

Stanley  {bowing).  Er — thank  you. 

{Exit  Agnes,  R.  Kitty  sits  on  settee , at  l.  f.,  with  cloak , 
cap  and  sword.  Stanley  bashfully  takes  a seat  by  her 
side.  An  awkivard  pause.  He  starts  several  times  to 
speak,  but  fails.) 

Kitty  {suddenly  tur fling  on  him).  Well  ? 

Stanley  {starting).  That’s  just  what  I was  going  to  say 
myself. 

Kitty.  Then  why  in  the  world  don’t  you  say  it  ? 
Stanley.  But  I was  just  going  to, 

Kitty,  Hush  1 


24 


BETWEEN  TWO  EOES 


Stanley  (; mournfully ).  Well,  I dare  say  you’re  right, 
yes. 

Kitty  {listening).  Don’t  you  hear  something  ? 

Stanley.  Yes,  my  heart — it  is  beating  very  loud. 

Kitty.  No,  no,  something  else. 

Stanley.  Perhaps  that — that  is  your  heart  ? 

Kitty.  No,  I was  wrong.  Well,  what  were  you  going 
to  say  ? 

Stanley  ( confitsed ).  H — how  should  I know  ? 

Kitty.  Have  you  forgotten  it  already  ? 

Stanley.  That  isn’t  the  point.  If  you  should  ask  me 
to-morrow  what  I was  goin’  to  say  to-day,  I shouldn’t  won- 
der if  I could  tell  you.  But  I never  can  think  of  anything 
just  now.  I’m  always  a day  too  late. 

Kitty.  I should  say  a week. 

Stanley.  No,  only  a day.  But  I do  think  of  things 
sometimes,  anyhow,  and  they’re  such  thunderin’  good  ones, 
too,  by  Jove  ! Make  me — he,  he  ! — laugh  dweadfully  ! 
He,  he  ! 

Kitty.  What  would  you  do  if  some  one  were  to  insult 
you  ? 

Stanley  ( very  mildly).  I — er — twash  him. 

Kitty.  S’pose  you  couldn’t  ? 

Stanley  {more  mildly).  Then  I’d — er — apologize. 

Kitty  ( with  scorn).  A soldier  apologize  ! Oh,  my  good- 
ness ! If  you  aren’t  the  worst ! 

Stanley.  Oh,  I ain’t  so  much  of  a soldier.  I like  the 
uniform — it’s  vewy  pwetty  and  just  suits  my  complexion — 
and  the  guns  and  the  twumpets  and  the  swords  are  vewy 
nice — only  I wish  mine  wasn’t  always  twipping  me  up  so — 
but  I weally  don’t  care  so  vewy  much  about  the  fighting, 
you  know.  This  dying  for  your  country  hasn’t  a single 
amusing  feature — for  me. 

Kitty.  My  goodness  ! I can’t  understand  you.  Doesn’t 
your  blood  boil  and  your  courage  rise  when  you  think  of  the 
rage  and  tumult  of  battle  ? 

Stanley  {mildly).  Oh,  awfully  ! Why,  when  we’re  out 
on  parade,  and  I see  the  men  marching,  and  hear  the  dwums 
and  twumpets,  I feel  like  the  very — 

Kitty.  Hush.  {Listens.)  No,  go  on. 

Stanley.  — like  the  very  dickens,  but  when  I get  back 
to  quarters  I'm  beastly  sorry  I ever  enlisted.  Yes. 

Kitty.  Oh,  you’re  a coward  l 

Stanley.  Thanks.  It’s  very  likely.  {Pause.)  Er — Miss 
Kitty. 

Kitty,  Well  ? 


BETWEEN  TJ VO  FOES 


Stanley.  I know  a fellah — a fellah  in  our  wegiment — 
but  perhaps  you  know  what  I’m  going  to  say  ? 

Kitty.  No,  I don’t.  Do  you  ? 

Stanley.  No— -o,  not  exactly.  Well,  you  see,  this  fellah 
— he’s  seen  you,  you  know,  and  he’s- — he’s  gone  and  fallen  in 
love  with  you.  He,  he  ! 

Kitty.  What  ? 

Stanley.  Of  course  I know  it’s  not  of  the  slightest  im- 
portance, only  I just  thought  I’d  let  you  know,  don’t  you 
know. 

Kitty.  My  goodness  ! What  do  you  mean  ? 

Stanley.  Well,  you  see,  he  wanted  me  to  tell  you — and 
— and  just  ask  you — if  you  wouldn’t  like  to — to  marry  him 
sometime,  don’t  you  know.  He,  he,  he  ! yes  ! 

Kitty  ( indignantly ).  Well,  upon  my  word  ! 

Stanley.  Yes,  that’s  just  exactly  what  I said  myself. 
Well,  upon  my  word,  says  I ! But  he’s  an  awf’lly  good 
fellah,  don’t  you  know.  Know  him  just  as  well  as — as  I 
know  myself.  He,  he  ! Er — shall  I tell  him  you’d  like  to 
marry  him  ? 

Kitty  (indignaiitly).  No.  What  is  the  name  of  this — 
fellah  ? 

Stanley  {aside).  Why  can’t  she  see  that  I’m  the  fellah  ? 
{Aloud.)  Oh,  well,  I — I daresay  I know  his  name,  you  know, 
only  I’ve — I’ve  forgotten  it  just  now.  A fellah  can’t  remem- 
ber everything,  can  he  ? Shall  I tell  him  you— er — will  ? 
Yes  ? 

Kitty.  No.  Leave  the  room. 

Stanley.  But,  Kitty — wait — it’s  all  right.  Let  me  ex- 
plain. 

Kitty.  I will  not.  {Aside.)  If  he  doesn’t  insist  on  ex- 
plaining I’ll  never  speak  to  him  again.  {Goes  R.) 

Stanley.  Just  one  moment.  1 know  his  name  now.  It’s 
Lieutenant — er — 

Kitty.  Stop  ! You’ve  said  enough.  Farewell  forever. 
{Turns  away.) 

Stanley  {agitated}.  Farewell — do — you— really — mean 
— it — forever — Kitty  ? 

Kitty.  I do.  {Aside.)  Why  can’t  he  see  I don’t  ? 

Stanley.  Then — good-bye.  I will  instantly  go  to  the 
front, and  put  an  end  to  a blighted  existence  by  being  shot.  Oh, 
I am  certainly  every  kind  of  a fool  they  make.  Farewell  ! 

{Exit  quickly , L.  i E.) 

Kitty  ( walking  slowly  backwards  towards  L.  D.).  Bob  ! 
{Pause.)  Bob  ! {Pause.)  Bobbie  ! {Turns.)  What, 
26 


BETWEEN  TWO  FOES 


gone  ! I didn't  mean  he  should  go.  A girl  can’t  say  yes 
the  very  first  thing.  Why  couldn’t  he  see  ? Bob  ! 

[Exit  hurriedly , L.  i E.,  calling . Enter  Agnes  r.) 

Agnes.  No  one  here  ! 

( Enter  Hastings,  l.  3 e.) 

Hastings.  All  ready,  sweetheart  ? 

Agnes.  Yes,  Allan. 

( Elaborate  business  of  putting  on  Agnes’s  hat  and  cloak.) 

Agnes.  Thank  you.  Now  my  fan,  please. 

( They  start  L.,  when  a knock  is  heard,  very  distinctly .) 

Agnes.  Some  one  is  at  the  door  ! 

Hastings.  Come  in  ! 

( Enter  Orderly,  l.  i e.  Both  men  salute .) 

Hastings.  What  is  it,  Orderly  ? 

Orderly.  This  despatch  for  you,  sir.  {Hands  note.) 

Hastings  {reading).  “ Captain  Hastings  : On  receipt  of 
this  order  you  will  report  at  once  to  General  Douglas,  at  the 
War  Department.  {Signed)  W.  H.  Ferris,  Ass’t.  Adj’t.  Gen.” 
{Speaks.)  Very  well,  Orderly.  No  answer. 

(Orderly  salutes , and  exit  l.) 

Agnes  {excitedly).  What  does  it  mean,  Allan  ? Tell  me 
truly,  are  you  ordered  away  ? 

Hastings.  No,  dearest,  only  to  headquarters.  Don’t  be 
alarmed  ; I’m  sure  it  means  nothing.  {A side.)  I cannot  under- 
stand it.  Something  serious  must  have  happened.  {Aloud). 
But  I’m  afraid  I shall  have  to  give  up  the  fair  to-night. 

Agnes.  Indeed,  I’m  glad  of  it.  I am  too  unhappy — 

Hastings.  The  more  reason,  then,  why  you  should  go, 
dearest.  It  will  keep  you  amused  while  I am  away.  Take 
Kitty  with  you  ; here  are  the  tickets.  {Places  them  cons  pic- 
uously  on  table.)  My  servant,  James,  will  take  you  there,  and 
as  soon  as  I can  leave  the  War  Department  I will  join  you. 
Will  you  not  do  this,  dearest  ? 

Agnes  {slowly).  Yes,  Allan,  dear,  of  course,  if  you  wish 
it. 

Hastings.  That’s  right.  .I’m  glad  to  see  you  so  brave. 
{Discovers  despatch  box  on  tablel)  Ah,  my  despatch  box  ! 
Agnes,  before  you  leave  the  room,  lock  up  this  box  in  that 
desk.  It  contains  some  very  important  military  papers. 
Agnes.  Yes,  Allan. 


27 


BETWEEN  TWO  EOES 


HASTINGS.  And  now,  good-bye  till  we  meet — at  the 
fair. 

(He  kisses  her , picks  up  his  sword , cap  and  cloak , and  exit 
L.  ie.,  dramatically.  Agnes  looks  after  him.  Then  to 
centre , and  sits.) 

Agnes  (sol.).  Ah,  how  heavy  my  heart  is  to-night ! This 
cruel,  cruel,  cruel  war  ! 

(She  goes  to  piano , and  sings  softly  part  of  a verse  of  “ The 
Blue  Bells  of  Scotland.  ’*) 

“ Oh,  where,  tell  me  where,  is  your  Highland  laddie  gone  ? 
Oh,  where,  tell  me  where,  is  your  Highland  laddie  gone  ? 
He’s  gone  with  streaming  banners  where  noble  deeds  are 
done  ; 

And  my  sad  heart  will  tremble  till  he  comes  safely  home. 
He’s  gone  with  streaming  banners  where  noble  deeds  are 
done, 

And — my — sad — heart — ” 

(Near  close  of  verse  her  voice  falters , she  breaks  down  and 
weeps.  While  she  is  in  this  attitude  Curtis  enters , 
softly , centre  window.  He  quickly  locks  doors , then  ad- 
vances to  Agnes.) 

Curtis  (softly).  Agnes  ! (Louder .)  Agnes  ! 

Agnes  (startled).  Who  called  me  ? (Turns.)  Ah  ! Who 
are  you  ? How  dare  you  enter  this  house  ? (Seizes  bell-rope.) 

Curtis  (removing  disguise).  Agnes  ! Don’t  you  know 
me  ? 

Agnes.  Richard  ! My  brother ! (Embraces  him.)  Oh, 
Dick,  Dick,  I’m  so  glad  you’ve  come  ! (Emotion.)  So — glad — 
you’ve  come  ! 

Curtis.  Hush  ! Not  so  loud  ! 

Agnes.  Why  not  ? You  are  my  brother  ! 

Curtis.  No  one  must  know  I’m  here.  I’m  in  great 
danger. 

Agnes.  Danger  ! What  do  you  mean  ? 

Curtis.  Not  so  loud  ! I have  been  pursued  through  the 
streets  of  Washington  to-night,  by  two  provost  marshals,  who 
are  trying  to  arrest  me. 

Agnes.  What  have  you  done?  You’re  not  a criminal  ! 
Curtis.  I am  a Southern  officer,  in  disguise  within  the 
Northern  lines. 

Agnes.  You  ! My  brother  ! A spy  ! Oh,  horrible  ! 
(Steps  back.) 

Curtis.  Yes,  a spy.  A spy.  You  are  easily  shocked,  I 


BETWEEN  TWO  FOES 


am  an  officer  of  General  Jackson’s  command.  He  has  sent 
me  here  to  obtain  important  information.  I have  been  con- 
cealed in  Washington  three  days,  but  to-night  I was  recog- 
nized on  the  street,  and  pursued.  I knew  you  were  here,  at 
home,  and  seeing  your  husband  go  out  I have  come  to  you 
for  help.  1 am  in  your  power.  Give  me  up — as  a spy — if 
you  will. 

Agnes.  But,  Richard — 

Curtis.  Remember  this.  If  I am  captured  I shall  be — 
hung.  ( Knocking  at  door  L.  3 E.)  Hush  ! Who  is  that  ? 
{He  goes  softly  to  door , and  stands  there , pistol  in  hand.) 

Kitty  {knocking,  without).  Agnes  ! Agnes  ! Let  me  in  ! 
It  is  I — Kitty.  Let  me  in. 

(Agnes  starts  to  open  door.  Curtis  checks  her.) 

Curtis.  Stop  ! Send  her  away. 

Agnes.  It  is  Kitty  ! 

Curtis.  Send  her  away,  I say.  She  is  too  young  to  trust 
with  this  secret. 

Kitty  {knocking).  Agnes  ! Agnes  ! Let  me  in  ! 

Agnes  {at  door).  I can’t  now,  Kitty.  I’m — I’m  very  busy. 
Come  back — by-and-bye. 

Kitty.  Oh,  all  right ! 

{Pause;  Agnes  and  Curtis  listen .) 

Curtis.  Has  she  gone  ? 

Agnes.  Yes.  {Scornfully .)  And  so,  now,  you  have  be- 
come a spy  ! Truly,  a most  honorable  profession  ! 

CURTIS.  And  why  not  ? Who  are  you  that  shall  judge 
such  things  ? Is  it  a crime  to  risk  one’s  life  in  a noble  cause  ? 

Agnes.  But  a spy  ! That  is  dishonorable  ! 

Curtis.  Why  is  it  less  honorable  for  a general  to  use  the 
knowledge  obtained  by  his  spy  than  it  is  for  the  man  himself 
to  get  it  ? The  commander  can  lose  nothing.  The  spy 
perils  his  name,  his  life,  everything  he  has  in  the  world. 
There  is  no  disgrace — no  dishonor  in  this.  But  if  there  were, 
still  I would  do  it  gladly,  for  I am  a Virginian,  and  I have 
sworn  to  fight  for  the  old  Dominion — aye,  and  die.  for  her  toor 
if  I must.  Rather  let  me  ask  why  you  have  deserted  your 
people  now,  when  their  trouble  is  bitterest  ? 

Agnes  {proudly).  I am  the  wife  of  Allan  Hastings. 
That  is  my  answer. 

Curtis.  ’Tis  no  answer  ! 

Agnes.  I say  it  is.  When,  but  a few  short  months  ago 
I spake  at  the  altar  the  sweet  vows  that  made  us  one, 

29 


BETWEEN  TWO  FOES 


my  life  was  changed  ; and  now  I say  to  him,  as  Ruth  said 
unto  Naomi  : “ Whither  thou  goest,  I will  go  ; where  thou 
lodgest,  I will  lodge  ; thy  people  shall  be  my  people,  and  thy 
God  my  God. 

Curtis.  Well,  as  you  please.  You  have  made  your 
choice.  You  must  abide  by  it  now.  ( Discovers  despatch 
box.)  What  is  this  ? ( Starts  to  open  it.) 

Agnes.  Stop  ! You  shall  not  open  that. 

Curtis  (opening  it).  You  have  spoken  too  late.  I have 
opened  it.  What  are  these  ? Maps  and  papers  ! (As  if  to 
read  them.) 

Agnes  (passio7iately).  Put  them  back  ! How  dare  you 
touch  them  ? 

Curtis  (coolly).  Because  I want  them.  I am  risking  my 
life  for  these  very  papers. 

Agnes  (s7iatchmg  some  of  the  papers  away).  So  you’re 
a thief  as  well  as  a spy  ! 

Curtis.  All’s  fair  in  war.  (Examining  papers.)  Map  of 
the  defences  of  Washington  ! Exactly  what  I want.  Plan 
of  Fortress  Monroe  and  Hampton  Roads  ! H’m — h’m — 
arrangement  of  the  Army  of  the  Potomac  ! Good  ! — h’m  ! — 
excellent ! 

Agnes  (seizing  bell-rope ).  Will  you  put  them  back  ? 

Curtis  (not  looking  up).  No,  I will  not.  (Examining 
others.)  Fortifications  of  New  York  harbor  ! H’m  ! — good 
for  future  reference — h’m  ! 

Agnes  (fiercely).  Once  more,  put  them  back, 

Curtis  (coolly).  Once  more,  I will  not.  (Reads.)  Pro- 
posed additions  to  earthworks  about  Washington  ! H’m — 
h’m  ! The  very  thing  ! 

Agnes.  You  have  brought  it  on  yourself!  (Rings  belli) 
There  ! 

Curtis  (startled).  Agnes  ! What  have  you  done  ? 

Agnes.  Rung  for  help.  All’s  fair  in  war,  you  say. 
Then  this  (rings)  is  fair. 

Curtis.  Stop  ! stop  ! Are  you  mad  ? 

Agnes.  Put  back  those  papers,  then. 

Curtis  (sullenly).  I will  not. 

Agnes.  Then  I will  summon  the  provost  guard  myself. 

Curtis.  And  betray  your  own  brother  to  death  ? 

Agnes.  Yes,  as  you  now  seek  to  betray  your  own  sister 
to  her  husband. 

Curtis.  You  are  right.  (Returns  papers  to  box , leav- 
ing it  open.)  I am  a spy,  but  I will  be  an  honorable 
one. 


30 


BETWEEN  TWO  EOES 


{Knocking  at  L.,  I.  E.(  very  distinct.) 

Agnes  (< aside ).  It  is  James. 

Voice  {outside).  Did  you  ring,  ma’am  ? Did  you  ring  ? 
{Knocks.) 

{At  first  knock  Agnes  and  Curtis  start.  Curtis  draws 

pistol  and  stands  by  door  ; he  77iotions  Agnes  to  se7id  the 

7uan  away.) 

Voice  {agai7i  kiiocking).  Did  you  ring,  ma’am  ? 

(Curtis  again  77iotions  sternly  to  Agnes  to  send  the  7na?i 
away.) 

Agnes,  {at  door)  It  was  a mistake,  James.  I do  not 
want  you. 

{She  listens  at  door.) 

Curtis.  Has  he  gone  ? 

Agnes.  Yes.  {Co77ies  down.)  Now,  what  am  I to  do  ? 

Curtis.  Give  me  some  disguise — a cloak  and  cap  of 
Hastings’s  will  answer.  Quickly  ! every  moment  is  precious  ! 

Agnes  {handing  clothes ).  There  ! But  you  need  not 
hurry  so,  Dick.  Allan  will  soon  be  back,  and  he  will — 

Curtis.  In  Heaven’s  name,  do  not  tell  him  that  I have 
been  here  to-night  ! 

Agnes.  Not  tell  my  husband  ? 

Curtis.  No.  As  you  love  us  both,  keep  my  presence 
here  a secret. 

Agnes.  But  why,  why  ? Why  must  I not  tell  him  ? 

Curtis.  Because  if  he  should  discover  that  I was  in 
Washington  as  a spy  he  would  be  bound  by  his  soldier’s 
oath  to  pursue  and  arrest  me.  I have  told  you  what  my 
capture  means. 

Agnes  {agitated{.  Yes,  yes,  I know.  But  must  I always 
have  this  secret  from  my  husband  ? 

Curtis.  No.  To-morrow  morning  I shall  be  safe  within 
the  Southern  lines.  {Aside.)  Or  dead.  {Aloud.)  Tell  him 
then.  To-night  be  silent.  Will  you  not  do  this  for  my  sake  ? 

AGNES.  Yes,  Richard,  I will — for  your  sake.  {With 
eTnotioni)  This  cruel,  cruel  war  ! 

Curtis  {kissing  her).  There,  don’t  cry,  dear.  It  will  all 
end  happily.  Good-bye  ! Kiss  Kitty  for  me. 

Agnes.  But  if  Allan  should  ask  me  why  I did  not  go  to 
the  Soldiers’  Fair  as  I promised  ! 

CURTIS.  Say  you  were  there,  and  left  early.  You  had  a 
headache — make  some  excuse  to-night  ; you  can  explain  it 
all  to-morrow.  {Noise  without ; red  fire  seen  through 

31 


BETWEEN  TWO  FOES 


centre  window .)  Ah  ! there  is  a tremendous  conflagration 
up  the  street.  Good  ! I can  easily  escape  now  in  the  con- 
tusion. Is  there  a way  out  there  ? ( Points  right.) 

Agnes.  Yes,  yes  ; through  my  room,  and  down  to  the 
rear  door.  Come,  quickly.  Allan  may  return  any  moment. 

Curtis.  Go  you  ahead  and  lead  the  way. 

(. Exeiuit  both  R.  2 E.  Stage  clear  for  an  instant.  Then  a 

rattle  of  spurs  and  scabbards  without , L.  1 E.  ; the  door 

is  burst  violently  open , and  in  rush  Hastings  and 
Whitney.) 

Hastings  ( distractedly ).  I tell  you,  Whitney,  there  is  no 
hope  ! See  ! She  is  not  here  ! 

Whitney.  Be  calm,  Hastings.  I’m  sure  your  wife  is 
safe. 

Hastings.  What ! 

Whitney.  Yes  ; for  just  now,  as  we  rushed  past  the  side 
entrance  of  the  house,  I thought  I saw  her  talking  to  an 
officer  in  uniform. 

Hastings  {wildly).  No,  no,  she  is  dead  ! Have  you  not 
seen  the  hall  one  solid  mass  of  roaring,  pitiless  flame  ? 
You  heard  them  say  a hundred  lives  were  lost.  [Shudders.) 
God  ! what  a death  to  die  ! What  a death  to  die  ! 

[Sinks  into  a chair , overcome.) 

Whitney.  But  she  may  not  have  gone — 

Hastings.  I tell  you  she  did  go.  I have  her  promise. 
And  Kitty  too  ! [Shudders.)  Get  me  a carriage — I must 
find  them.  How — how  my  head  is — I’m  not  well.  [Stag- 
gers.) I cannot  see!  Go,  John,  to  the  hall,  and  — 
[fiercely)  if  you  come  back  without  them,  I’ll  kill — no,  no, 
I don’t  know  what  I’m  saying  ! I don’t  know  what  I'm  say- 
ing. [Sinks  into  a chair , buries  his  face  in  his  hands  and 
sobs  convulsively .) 

Whitney.  Wait  here  till  I return,  Allan.  I will  find 
them  for  you.  [Aside  going  L.)  Poor  fellow  ! 

[Exit  L.  1 e.) 

Hastings  [rousing).  John  ! Whitney ! Wait  ! I’ll  go 
with  you.  He  has  gone  ! My  head  ! My  head  ! [Rises, 
staggers  across  stage , and  sinks  uito  a chair  at  L.  F.,  over- 
come.) 

[Enter  Agnes,  r.) 

Agnes  [aside).  Richard  is  safe  ! [Sees  Hastings.) 
Allan  back  so  soon  ! 


32 


BETWEEN  TV/O  EOES 


{During  following  scene  Agnes  must  appear  as  if  acting 

a part , and  endeavoruig  to  conceal  her  emotions . She 

approaches  him , and  sings  a few  bars  of  “ The  Blue 

Bells  of  Scotland/) 

Hastings  {rousing).  Eh  ! Who  is  singing  ? ( Sees  her.) 

Agnes  ! {Starts  back.) 

Agnes  {laughing  with  effort).  Why,  what’s  the  matter, 
Allan  dear  ? Are  you  ill  ? 

Hastings  {laughing  with  effort).  Ha  ! ha  ! No,  no, 
I’m  not  ill — I’m — I’m  not  ill.  But  I’ve  had  such  a horrible 
dream,  dear.  ( Kisses  her.)  I thought  I — I had  lost  you. 
But  I haven’t  lost  you,  my  darling,  have  I ? 

Agnes.  No,  dearest,  not  as  long  as  you  will  keep  me. 

Hastings.  Then  you’re  mine — forever. 

Agnes  {aside).  If  I could  only  tell  him  the  truth  ! 
(Aloud.)  I’m  going  to  find  a little  fault  with  you  now, 
Allan  dear. 

Hastings  (laughing).  Ah,  do.  I should  like  to  hear 
you  scold. 

Agnes.  Why  did  you  not — not  come  to  the — hall  for 
Kitty  and  me — as  you  promised  ? Did  you  forget  us  ? 

Hastings  (bewildered).  I don’t  understand. 

AGNES  (playfully).  I shan’t  let  you  go  away  from  me 
again.  We  waited — and  waited — 

Hastings.  You — waited  1 

Agnes.  Yes,  a little,  and — and  then  as  I had  a headache 
— Captain  Whitney  brought  us  home. 

Hastings  (aside).  Am  I losing  my  mind  ? 

(Rises  and  wanders  up  to  C.  window .) 

Agnes  (laughing).  And  all  the  time  you  were  here,  fast 
asleep.  Yet  I’ve  heard  you  say  you  loved  me  ! 

Hastings  (aside,  at  c.  window).  The  hall  is  on  fire 
and  I have  not  dreamt  it  ! What  can  it  mean  ? (Comes 
down  a little  and  discovers  open  despatch  box.)  How 
comes  my  despatch  box  open  ? There  is  some  mystery 
here. 

(Enter  Whitney,  l.  i e.,  quickly .) 

Whitney  (te?iderly).  Allan,  dear  old  man,  I fear  there 
is  no  hope.  I can  find  no  trace  of  them  there.  The  hall 
is  burned  to  the  ground.  (Sees  Agnes.)  Mrs.  Hastings  ! 

Agnes  (startled).  The  city  hall  burned  ! 

(The  three  stand  perfectly  still  for  an  instant j Agnes 
agitated ; Hastings  and  Whitney  puzzled .) 

Hastings  (aside  j as  if  dazed).  What  does  it  all  mean? 

3 rt'x 


BETWEEN  TWO  FOES 


(Whitney  glances  from  one  to  the  other , and  then  with 
a significant  shrug  and  look , silently  withdraws , L.  i E.) 

Hastings  ( slowly  ; his  suspicions  and  anger  increas- 
ing as  he  proceeds).  And  so  you  do  not  know  the  hall  is 
burning,  and  a hundred  lives  are  lost  ? 

Agnes.  But  Allan — 

Hastings.  Perhaps  you  were  not  there  at  all.  What 
have  you  been  doing  in  my  absence  ? 

Agnes  {agitated).  Yes,  yes — we  were  there — but  not 
very  long — Kitty — I mean  I — had  a headache — so  we  came 
home.  But  we  were  there — a little  while. 

Hastings  {sternly ; holding  up  tickets ).  Then,  how 
come  these  tickets  here  ? And  who  has  plundered  my  de- 
spatch box  ? And  whose  hat  is  this  ? {At  each  question 
Agnes  shrinks  away  from  him  while  his  anger  increases.) 
Agnes,  you  are  deceiving  me. 

Agnes.  But,  Allan — ! 

Hastings.  Who  was  the  man  you  were  secretly  assisting 
to  escape  ? 

AGNES  {alarmed).  Oh,  no  one,  no  one  ! I cannot  tell  ! 

Hastings  {storming  up  and  down).  You  shall  tell  ! 
Your  silence  dishonors  me  ! 

Agnes  ( earnestly ).  No,  Allan,  no,  as  truly  as  I have  ever 
loved  you,  I love  you  now. 

Hastings.  Then  you  can  tell  me. 

Agnes.  I cannot.  Oh,  I dare  not.  {Pleadingly .)  Won’t 
you  trust  me,  dear  ? 

Hastings  {bitterly).  After  you  have  twice  deceived  me  ! 
Most  excellent  reasons  for  trusting  you. 

Agnes  {becoming  angry).  Your  suspicions  are  insulting. 

Hastings.  Your  silence  is  worse.  Who  has  been  here 
to-night  ? 

{Enter  Kitty  impulsively , L.  d.) 

Kitty.  Oh,  Agnes,  why  wouldn’t  you  let  me  in  when  I 
knocked  ? (Agnes  endeavors  to  check  her  by  a gesture , 
which  Hastings  perceives.)  Eh,  what  ? Whom  were  you 
talking  with  ? Eh — what’s  the  matter  ? It  was  a man  any- 
how. I heard  his  voice. 

Hastings  {vehemently).  So  there  was  a man  here  ! 
And  you  dare  not  tell  me  his  name  ! Yet  you  say  you  have 
not  wronged  me  ! 

(AGNES  lays  her  hand  appealuigly  on  his  arm.  He  throws 

her  roughly  away  in  anger.  She  beco7nes  instantly  very 

angry.) 


34 


BETWEEN  TWO  FOES 


AGNES  {wildly).  Ah  ! what  have  you  done  ? You  have 
struck  me  ! Come,  Kitty,  come.  We  must  leave  this  house. 
I will  not  be  insulted  again.  Come. 

( They  go  towards  R.  D.  Trumpet  without  sounds  the 
“Assembly.") 

Hastings.  Hark  ! I’m  called. 

{Military  band  outside  plays  “ The  Blue  Bells  of  Scotland" 
as  a quickstep.  At  first  pp,  but  rapidly  crescendo , as  if 
the  band  were  swiftly  approaching  and  marching  directly 
past  c.  window.  Ejiter  Stanley,  l.  i e.,  hurriedly .) 

Stanley.  Good-bye,  Kitty.  Good-bye,  all.  We’re  off  at 
last,  don’t  you  know.  Come,  Captain,  come. 

{He  picks  up  the  despatch  box , pauses  a moment  at  L.  i E. 
then  exit . Hastings  starts  after  him.) 

Agnes  {with  great  emotion).  Allan,  Allan,  where  are  you 
going  ? 

Hastings.  We  start  for  the  front  at  midnight.  {Bugle) 
I must  go. 

{He  picks  tip  sword , cap  and  cloak . Fifes  and  drums  are 
now  playing “ The  Girl  I Left  Behind  me,"  very  loud  and 
shrill  under  window.  Exit  Hastings,  l.  i e.,  dramatic- 
ally. Kitty  hurries  to  c.windowj  Agnes  down  c.a  little.) 

Kitty  {at  window , greatly  excited ).  Here  they  are  ! 
Come,  Agnes  ! Hurry  ! There’s  Bob  ! Oh,  Bob  ! Bob  ! ! 
Good-bye  ! Good-bye,  Allan.  Quickly,  Agnes.  Here’s 
Allan  ! 

(Agnes  runs  up  c.  to  window , looks  out , puts  her  hand  to 
her  eyes , then  turns  and  runs  down  a little , crying  as  if 
heart-broken .) 

Agnes.  Oh,  my  God  ! 

{She  faints  and  falls  prone  to  stage  near  C.,  and  lies  there 
at  curtain , while  Kitty  is  at  window , waving  hand- 
kerchief and  cheering.) 

Slow  Act  Drop 


35 


ACT  II. 


SCENE. — A room  in  the  house  of  the  Rev.  Henry  Arnold, 
situated  near  Lynchburg , Campbell  Co .,  Virginia . Time , 
April  8,  1865.  Three  years  and  a half  have  elapsed  since 
thefirstact%  Hour , about  % p.m.  Doors  atR.  2 E. ; L.  3 E., 
and  at  C.  zVz  flat . window  at  R.  C.  ^4  large , old- 

fashioned fireplace  of  brick  at  L.  1 E.,  supplied  with  a crane , 
fire-dogs , plainly  furnished  in  the  early 

colonial  style.  For  description  see  scene  plot . 

( Curtain  discovers  Kitty  seated  by  the  side  of  a baby  s crib, 
near  R.  3 E.  Lights  half  down  j music  to  commence .) 

Kitty.  How  restless  the  baby  is  to-night ! ( Inspects 

him.)  His  face  is  flushed,  and  he  seems  very  feverish.  Poor 
little  man  ! ( Rocks  cradle  and  sings  a Southern  lullaby .) 

( Enter  Arnold,  c.  d.,  carrying  an  armful  of  wood , which 
he  drops  near  fireplace.  He  leaves  door  open  ; Kitty 
shuts  it.) 

Kitty.  Uncle  Henry,  you  must  make  less  noise,  or  you’ll 
certainly  wake  the  baby. 

Arnold.  Eh  ! Bless  my  soul  ! Is  the  baby  here  ? ( Goes 
to  cradle.)  Ah,  so  he  is  ! Where’s  his  mother,  Kitty  ? 
Kitty.  Upstairs,  asleep,  while  I’m  taking  care  of  him. 
Arnold.  Well,  well,  let  her  rest,  poor  child.  Let  her 
rest  if  she  can.  ( They  go  to  C.  F.) 

Kitty  (feeling  of  his  coat).  My  goodness,  Uncle  Henry  ! 
You’re  wet  through.  You  must  change  your  coat  this 
minute. 

Arnold.  Oh,  no,  no,  this  will  do  very  well  ; very  well, 
indeed. 

Kitty.  No,  sir  ! You  must  get  out  of  that  coat  right 
quick.  ( Goes  to  R.  closet.')  Why,  where  is  your  other  coat  ? 

Arnold  {confused).  Eh  ! my  other  coat  ? Let  me  think. 
You’re  sure  it  isn’t  there  ? 

Kitty  {severely).  You  know  it  isn’t.  Uncle  Henry,  you 
have  gone  and  given  it  away. 

Arnold.  Oh,  yes,  yes.  It  occurs  to  me  now.  There  was 
a poor  fellow  this  morning — very  sad  case — Union  soldier 

36 


BETWEEN  TWO  FOES 


escaping  from  Richmond — hadn’t  eaten  anything  for  three 
days,  and  so — 

Kitty.  — And  so  you  gave  him  your  coat  for  breakfast  1 
( Sarcastically .) 

Arnold.  Well,  no,  my  dear,  not  exactly.  Most  un- 
fortunately there  wasn’t  a morsel  to  eat  in  the  house  ; but  he 
seemed  to  be  a very  interesting  young  man,  and  as  he  wanted 
to  disguise  his  uniform,  we  just  exchanged  coats. 

Kitty  (u producing  an  old  blue  blouse ).  Well,  you  must 
put  this  on  till  your  other  is  dry.  Ugh  ! how  I hate  the  very 
color  of  it  ! 

(He  puts  on  coat  j both  laugh  at  his  odd  appearance .) 

Arnold  (softly).  Hush  ! remember  the  baby.  (Goes  to 
window  and  looks  out.)  How  fiercely  it  storms  ! I pity 
those  poor  fellows  who  are  without  shelter  to-night.  (Sounds 
of  storm  without.  Kitty  starts  to  draw  window  curtains  ; 
he  stops  her.)  No,  Kitty.  (Puts  candle  before  window.) 
Perhaps  that  light,  shining  through  the  stormy  darkness,  will 
carry  hope  and  cheer  to  some  homeless  wanderer,  out  there 
in  the  cold  and  wet.  I hope  so.  Why,  who  knows  but  our 
Dick  may  see  it ; and  then  he  will  know  we  are  all  well — and 
— and  happy.  (Emotion.)  Yes,  yes,  very — very  happy.  So 
we  won’t  draw  the  curtains,  my  dear  ; we  won’t  draw  the 
curtains — to-night. 

(Both  come  down.) 

Kitty.  Where  do  you  suppose  Dick  is  ? We  haven’t 
heard  from  him  in  two  months. 

Arnold  (cheerfully).  Oh,  never  fear,  Dick  is  all  right. 
(Aside.)  Heaven  grant  he  is  ! 

(Kitty  proceeds  to  hang  up  Arnold’s  coat  before  the  fire. 

He  stops  her , quickly.) 

Arnold.  My  dear  child  ! Pray  be  very  careful. 

Kitty.  Of  that  thing  ? Why  ? 

Arnold  (taking  coat).  What  do  you  think  there  is  in  the 
pockets  ? 

Kitty.  Oh,  same  as  usual,  I suppose.  Nothing. 

Arnold.  Oh,  no,  no,  a great  deal  better  than  that.  Guess 
again. 

Kitty.  H’m  ! h’m ! Let  me  see.  Something  for  the 
baby  ? 

Arnold.  Not  definite  enough.  Everything  is  for  the 
baby. 

Kitty.  It  is — something  to  eat ! 

37 


BETWEEN  TV/O  EOES 


Arnold.  Ha  ! ha  ! ha  ! Yes,  but  what  ? Come,  now, 
guess. 

Kitty.  I reckon  it’s  a — a ham  ? 

Arnold  ( chuckling ).  Ha  ! ha  ! Not  a bit  like  it. 

Kitty.  Chickens  ? 

Arnold.  Colder  and  colder,  Kitty.  Ha  ! ha  ! 

Kitty.  Let  me  think  ! Ham — no  ! Chickens — no  ! Oh, 
I never  can  guess.  Tell  me  ! 

Arnold  (, slowly ).  It — is — five — 

Kitty.  Well,  what  ? ( Impatiently .) 

Arnold.  Eggs  ! {Triumphantly .) 

Kitty.  Fresh  eggs? 

Arnold.  Um-m,  well,  rather  fresh.  We  mustn’t  expect 
too  much  in  war  times,  my  dear.  I found  them  myself. 

Kitty.  Well,  I’m  right  glad  you  did,  for  there  isn’t  any- 
thing else  in  the  house  to  eat  except  a little  cold  hoe-cake. 
( She  takes  eggs  out  of  pocket  quickly. 

Arnold  {anxiously).  Careful,  Kitty,  careful.  Even  these 
eggs  are — eggs,  you  know. 

Kitty  {laying  eggs  on  table).  One,  two,  three,  four,  five. 
Correct ! I had  a sort  of  feeling  that  one  of  them  would  be 
smashed.  How  shall  we  fix  ’em  ? 

Arnold  {thoughtfully).  Well,  now,  what  is  your  opinion  ? 
Don’t  speak  impulsively.  What  is  your  de-lib-e-rate  opinion  ? 

Kitty  {thoughtfully).  Let’s  see.  Five  eggs — of  unknown 
age-— for  three  grown-ups  and  a baby. 

Arnold.  Quite  right,  Kitty  ; quite  right. 

Kitty  {slowly).  Well,  I vote  for — an — omelet. 

Arnold.  Bravo  ! The  very  thing  I had  chosen  myself. 
Still,  there  was  really  no  question — it’s  the  only  thing  possible 
— with  these  eggs.  We  must  give  them  the  benefit  of  every 
doubt. 

(Kitty  proceeds  to  set  table  ; Arnold  breaks  eggs  into  fry - 
ing  pan.) 

Arnold  {breakuig  a bad  egg).  Phew  ! there’s  no  doubt 
about  that  egg.  It’s  older  than  Pharaoh.  {Throws  it  away ; 
breaks  another).  That’s  suspicious — came  over  with  William 
the  Conqueror,  probably — but  it  may  go,  in  an  omelet,  with 
plenty  of  seasoning.  {Breaks  other  eggs  and  prepares 
omelet.)  How  do  you  think  Agnes  is  to-day,  Kitty  ? 

Kitty.  Poor  child  ! She  is  miserable. 

Arnold.  I’m  afraid  so.  Yet  there’s  nothing  I can  do  for 
her  now. 

Kitty.  That’s  because  you’ve  done  everything  in  the  world 
for  us  both,  already,  uncle  dear. 

38 


BETWEEN  TWO  FOES 


Arnold.  There,  there,  we’re  not  going  to  talk  about  that 
any  more. 

Kitty.  Oh,  yes  we  are.  What  should  we  have  done  in 
the  past  three  terrible  years  but  for  you  ? When  it  seemed — 

Arnold.  But  I say,  Kitty,  we’re  not  to  talk  about  that 
now. 

Kitty.  And  I say  we  are.  You  can’t  stop  me,  but  I can 
stop  you.  (Kisses  him.)  This  way. 

Arnold  (laughing).  Goalong,  now.  That’s  just  the  way 
to  make  me  keep  on. 

Kitty.  Don’t  be  a bad  boy,  or  I shall  have  to  send  you  to 
bed.  Wasn’t  Agnes’s  baby  born  here  ; and  haven’t  you  taken 
care  of  him  as  if  he  were  your  own  child  ? ( Embraces  him.) 

Uncle  Henry,  I love  you  ! 

Arnold.  Tut  ! tut  ! Be  careful,  child.  You  must  not 
interfere  with  the  omelet. 

Kitty.  That’s  so  ! Let  me  have  it.  (Takes  frying  pan.) 
Sentiment  is  a luxury — but  an  omelet  is  a necessity. 

(Enter  Agnes,  r.  d.  She  goes  to  cradle.  Arnold  goes 
towards  her.) 

Agnes  (at  cradle).  Still  asleep  ! 

Arnold.  My  child,  we’re  glad  to  see  you.  (They  come 
down.) 

Agnes.  Have  you  any  news  of  the  two  armies,  uncle  ? 

Arnold.  Yes,  there  was  a desperate  battle  at  Sailor’s 
Creek  yesterday,  twenty  miles  away. 

Agnes.  So  near  ! Which  was  victorious  ? 

Arnold.  The — the  other  side,  the  Northern.  Agnes,  do 
you  never  think  of  your  husband  now  ? Have  you  quite  for- 
gotten him  ? 

Agnes.  Absolutely  forgotten — but  not  forgiven — him. 

Arnold.  But,  my  dear,  you  should  be  more  charitable. 

Agnes.  . Can  a woman  ever  forgive  the  wrong  he  has  done 
me?  No.  It  is  unpardonable.  But  it  will  do  no  good  to  talk 
of  this.  I wish  Dick  were  here  to-night. 

Kitty  (at  fireplace ).  My  goodness  ! and  don’t  I ! 

Arnold.  Ah,  if  he  only  were  ! What  a dear,  reckless, 
lovable  boy  he  was  ! (Laughs  softly.)  And  so  were  you 
too,  Kitty,  quite  as  much  of  a boy  as  Dick.  You  never  would 
learn  your  lessons — though  I know  I was  a trifle  old-fashioned 
in  my  way. 

Agnes.  No,  it  was  Kitty’s  fault.  She  was  always  in  mis- 
chief. 

Kitty  (complacently).  Yes,  I reckon  I most  generally  was. 

Arnold.  And  do  you  remember,  Kitty,  how  you  and  Dick 

39 


BETWEEN  TWO  FOES 


and  I used  to  go  down  to  the  river  Saturday  mornings  and 
fish,  eh  ? 

Kitty.  Don’t  I ! 

Arnold.  Such  a boy  Dick  was  ! Aye,  and  such  a boy 
you  were,  too,  my  dear.  You  always  caught  more  fish  than 
Dick  and  I together.  Ha  ! ha  ! ha  ! Those  dear  old  days  ! 

I wish  they  were  back  once  more. 

Kitty.  And  have  you  forgotten  the  time  you  lost  your 
wig,  uncle  Henry  ? 

Arnold.  Ha  ! ha  ! ha  ! Ho  ! ho  ! ho  ! lost  my  wig  ! 
Bless  me,  so  I did  ! When  that  rascal  Dick  tied  it  to  the  chair, 
after  dinner,  while  I was — was  thinking  over  my  sermon,  eh  ? 

Kitty.  No,  you  were  fast  asleep.  And  then  1 crept  up  be- 
hind you  and  cried — Boo  ! 

Arnold.  Yes,  yes,  and  then  up  I jumped,  and  off  went 
my  wig.  ( All  laugh.')  Those  dear,  dear  old  days  ! How  I 
wish  they  were  back  once  more.  ( Storm  without.)  Hark  ! 
how  it  storms  ! {Knock,  c.  D.)  What  is  that  ? {Knock, 
louder.)  Sh-h,  some  one  is  at  the  door. 

{He  opens  c.  d.  Enter  Sergeant  Thayer,  then  Captain 

Miles.  Both  booted  and  spurred  and  muddy  with  hard 

riding.) 

Miles  {bowing  deeply ).  My  apologies  for  this  intrusion, 
sir,  but  I am  conducting  a scouting  party  across  the  country 
for  the  purpose  of  cutting  the  Yankees’  telegraph  wires,  and 
I’ve  lost  my  way  in  the  storm.  I am  Captain  Miles,  of  the  5th 
Georgia  Cavalry. 

Arnold.  And  I am  Henry  Arnold,  of  this  place.  You 
are  heartily  welcome  here,  sir.  Pray  be  seated  near  the  fire. 

Miles  {going  to  fire).  You  are  very  good,  sir,  but  my 
business  is  urgent.  I am  looking  for  the  Lynchburg  road. 

Arnold.  Dear  me  ! You’re  a long  way  out  of  your  path. 
Let  me  see  : Follow  this  road  past  the  house  about  a mile,  to 
the  first  crossing  ; then  turn  to  the  left  three  miles,  then  to  the 
right  one,  and  you  will  find  yourself  upon  the  Lynchburg 
turnpike. 

Miles.  I am  deeply  obliged  to  you,  sir.  Good-night. 
Ladies,  your  servant.  {Bows.)  Sergeant. 

(Miles  and  Sergeant  to  c.  d.  Exit  Sergeant.) 

Kitty  {to  Arnold).  Ask  him  if  he  knows  about  Dick. 

Arnold.  Er — one  minute,  Captain. 

Miles  {turning  and  bowing).  ’Twill  be  but  half  a 
minute  to  me,  sir. 

Arnold-  You  will  drink  a stirrup  cup  with  us,  Captain  ? 

40 


BETWEEN  TWO  FOES 


Miles.  Thanks,  you’re  very  good.  It’s  a cruel  night  out- 
side. 

(Kitty  brings  down  a decanter  and  glasses  on  a small 

tray.  Miles  and  Arnold  each  fill  a glass.  All  done 

with  elaborate  Southern  formalities.) 

Arnold.  Your  very  good  health,  Captain.  {Bows.) 

Miles.  Sir  ! And  yours,  ladies.  {Bows  to  Agnes 
and  Kitty  who  slightly  acknowledge  it.  Both  men  drink.) 

Arnold  {with  assumed  indifference).  By  the  way,  Cap- 
tain, can  you  give  me  any  information  concerning  an  officer 
of  the — the  ioth  Virginia  infantry — one  Colonel — 

Kitty  {interrupting  eagerly).  Richard  Curtis  ? 

Miles.  Colonel  Curtis  ! Yes,  I know  him  well. 

Arnold  {eagerly).  Do  you  ! Where  is  he  ? 

Miles.  He  is  now — a prisoner  within  the  Northern  lines. 

Arnold.  A prisoner  ! Thank  heaven  ! At  least  he  is 
safe  and  well. 

Miles.  I fear  he  is  neither,  sir,  for  at  this  moment  he  lies 
under  sentence  of  death — 

Agnes.  Ah  ! 

Arnold.  Death  ! Of  what  crime  is  he  falsely  accused  ? 

Miles.  He  is  held  as  a hostage  for  a Union  officer,  now 
confined  in  Libby  prison,  and  sentenced  to  be  shot  for  violat- 
ing his  parole. 

Arnold.  But  they  dare  not  murder  Colonel  Curtis  in 
cold  blood  ! The  day  for  such  acts  is  passed. 

Miles.  I’m  afraid  they  will,  sir,  if  Colonel  Allan  Hast- 
ings is  shot. 

Agnes  {deeply  agitated ; aside).  Husband  against 
brother  ! It  has  come  at  last,  in  spite  of  all  my  prayers. 
{Drops  into  a chair , overcome.  Kitty  goes  to  her  side.) 

Miles.  I fear  madam  is  ill. 

Arnold  {much  agitated ).  Oh,  no,  no,  it  is  nothing.  We 
— we  used  to  know  Colonel  Curtis  once — and  Colonel  Hast- 
ings slightly — that  is  all,  that  is  all — oh,  very  slightly. 

Miles.  I hope  I have  not  spoken  too  abruptly. 

Arnold  ( much  agitated).  Oh,  no,  no,  it  is  nothing.  We 
are  quite  used  to  such — such  little  things  as  this.  {Tear- 
fully.) We  often  find  them  quite  amusing. 

(Arnold  and  Miles  to  c.  d.  and  converse  apart.) 

Agnes.  What  a cruel  fate  is  mine  ! Husband  against 
brother ! {Emotion.) 

Kitty  {embracing  her).  Don’t  cry,  Agnes.  It  isn’t 
right  to  cry.  Look  at  me.  {She  weeps.) 

4 1 


BETWEEN  TWO  EOES 


Miles  (at  c.  d.).  But  I have  long  outstayed  my  time. 
By  morning  there  must  not  be  a single  Yankee  telegraph 
wire  uncut.  My  thanks  to  you,  sir.  Ladies.  [Bows.) 
Good-night. 

( Exit  Miles,  C.  d.  A moment  later  is  heard  the  clatter 
of  hoofs  and  jingle  of  accoutreinents  as  the  troop  rides 
away . All  three  listen .) 

Agnes  (at  cradle ).  My  boy  ! you’re  all  I have  now  in  the 
world. 

Arnold.  There,  there,  my  child.  Don’t  be  distressed. 
It  will  all  come  out  right  in  the  end.  (Aside.)  God  send  it 
may  ! (Aloud.)  Go  to  your  room  now,  and  rest  a little  longer. 
To-morrow  I will  see  General  Lee  myself  ; I am  sure  it  can  all 
be  easily  arranged.  Come,  my  dear.  (Leading  her  to  R.  D.) 
You  look  after  the  baby,  Kitty.  Come,  my  dear. 

(Exeunt  both , r.  d.) 

Kitty  (at  table).  Oh,  I wish  this  war  was  over.  My  life 
is  just  one  great  big  sob — my  heart  has  been  in  my  throat  for 
three  long  years.  I wonder  where  Bob  is  to-night.  I hope 
he  is  safe.  And  Dick  and  Allan  ! Suppose  they  should — have 
— to — die.  Suppose  they — were — dead — now  ! Oh  ! 

(She  puts  her  head  down  on  table  and  weeps.  While  she  is 
in  this  position  the  centre  door  opens  very  softly.  Kitty 
perceives  it  and  watches  it  in  alarm.  At  length  HAST- 
INGS appears , slowly  and  stealthily . Kitty  suddenly 
slips  under  table  in  alarm.) 

Kitty  (on  floor).  His  ghost  ! Oh-h  ! He’s  dead  ! 

(Hastings  slowly  disappears , shutting  the  door  after  him . 
Kitty,  after  much  business  of  fear,  rises  and  goes  to 
centre .) 

Kitty  (tearfully).  The  house  is  haunted.  I’m  going  to 
tell  Uncle  Henry.  (She  turns  and  sees  Hastings’s  face  at 
window , and  shrieks  out :)  Allan  ! 

( With  a cry  of  terror  she  runs  off \ R.  D.  Enter  slowly , C. 
D.,  Hastings  and  Stanley.  Both  are  in  rags  and  look 
pinched  by  hunger  and  cold.  They  have  escaped  from 
Libby  prison.  Hastings  is  very  feeble , and  is  partly  sup- 
ported by  Stanley.) 

Stanley  (t protesting , as  they  advance ).  You  must  stay 
outside,  Colonel,  till  I find  if  we  are  safe  here. 

42 


BETWEEN  TWO  EOES 


Hastings.  I will  not.  I know  this  is  Miller’s,  the  Union 
sympathizer.  Ah,  that  fire  ! ( Goes  to  fire.)  It  has  seemed 

;o-night  as  if  I should  die  of  cold.  I can  go  no  farther  now. 
How  many  days  since  we  escaped  from  Libby,  boy  ? 

Stanley.  Three,  Colonel.  But  I beg  you  will  go  outside. 

Hastings.  Three  days  and  nights  in  the  swamps  of  Vir- 
ginia, fleeing  for  life,  and  hunted  by  dogs  and  men  like  rats 
*o  their  holes.  Ah,  the  blessed  fire  ! One  must  be  an  es- 
:aping  prisoner,  starving  and  freezing,  to  know  the  ecstacy 
)f  food  and  warmth.  And  if  there’s  a price  upon  his  head, 
so  much  the  better.  ( Sees  table.)  Food  ! If  I only  dared  ! 
'Noise  off  right.) 

Stanley  ( seizing  his  arm  ; alarmed).  Some  one  is  com- 
ing ! Quick,  outside  and  wait. 

Hastings  {querulously).  Out  in  the  cold  and  wet  again  ! 
Ho,  no,  1 will  not  go.  ( They  struggle .) 

Stanley.  You  must  ! Quickly  ! Some  one  is  here. 

{He  forces  Hastings  out , c.  d.  Enter  Arnold,  r.  d.) 

Arnold  {astonished  at  seeing  Stanley).  I beg  pardon, 
but — 

Stanley  {turning ; coolly).  Just  what  I was  goingto  say 
myself.  How-de-do  ? Beastly  weather,  ain’t  it  ? 

ARNOLD.  Why,  really  sir,  I — I don’t  quite  understand. 

Stanley.  That’s  all  right.  Neither  do  I.  {Aside.)  I 
must  find  out  who  he  is.  {Aloud.)  Well,  you — er — see, — 
oh,  by  the  way,  I didn’t  catch  your  name  ? 

Arnold  ( with  dignity).  My  name,  sir,  is  Henry  Arnold. 

Stanley  {seizing  his  hand).  Delighted,  I’m  sure  ! 
{Aside.)  The  very  man  we  were  warned  to  avoid.  The  out- 
look is  indeed  gloomy.  {Aloud.)  Arnold,  eh  ? Why,  I’ve 
heard  of  you  before.  Allow  me.  {Shakes  his  hand  vigor- 
ously.) Used  to  know  all  about — er — Benedict  Arnold  in 
school,  years  ago.  He  did  something  or  other  and  got 
hanged  or  something,  didn’t  he  ? He,  he  ! Yes. 

Arnold  {much  offended).  Sir  ! 

Stanley  {with  affected joviality ).  No  offence,  no  offence. 
Awf’ly  glad  to  see  you,  don’t  you  know,  because  you’re  the 
particular  person  I’ve  been  looking  for.  {Aside.)  And 
mighty  sorry  to  find.  {Aloud.)  So  that’s  where  the  fun  comes 
in.  Ha,  ha  ! Yes. 

Arnold  {confused).  De-ar  me  ! what  fun  ? 

Stanley.  Oh,  any  kind  you  like.  It  really  doesn’t  mat- 
ter, so  long’s  the  joke’s  on  some  one. 

Arnold  {more  bewildered ).  De-ar  me  ! 

Stanley  {aside).  Poor  Hastings  is  freezing  to  death  out 
43 


BETWEEN  TWO  FOES 


there.  I’ll  bring  him  in  fora  few  moments  ; and  if  the  old 
gentleman  gets  tricky  I’ll  gag  him.  He  looks  harmless 
enough  now,  though.  (Aloud.)  I say,  you  know,  have  you 
any  objections  to  my  asking  in  a friend  from  outside  ? 

Arnold.  Bless  me  ! out  there  in  the  storm  ? 

STANLEY.  Oh,  yes,  yes,  out  there,  yes.  Peculiarity  of  his. 
Likes  to  stay  out  in  the  rain  and  get  wet.  Says  it’s  been  a 
family  characteristic  for  centuries,  and  he’s  actually  proud  of 
it.  Claims  he  inherited  the  taste  from  Noah.  Er— may  I ? 

Arnold.  At  once  ! (At  c.  D.,  calling  off.)  Friend,  won’t 
you  come  in  by  the  fire  ? 

Stanley  (at  c.  d.,  speaking  off).  Yes,  yes,  come  in. 
Why  stand  upon  ceremony  now  ? Come  in  and  be  sociable. 

(Enter  Hastings,  c.  d.  Stanley  takes  his  arm  and  guides 

him  d,own  to  fire , where  he  crouches  over  the  blaze , rub- 
bing his  hands  and  muttering.) 

Hastings.  I’m  so  cold  ! Pm  almost  frozen  ! 

Stanley  (aside  to  Hastings).  Sh-h,  Colonel.  You’ll  soon 
feel  better.  (To  Arnold.)  Pretend  not  to  notice  him.  In 
fact,  don’t  notice  him.  Mind’s  not  quite  right,  you  know. 
Hundred  pound  shell  hit  him  point  blank  on  top  of  his  head, 
exploded — biff! — left  him  the  wreck  you  behold.  Quite  a 
beastly  sad  thing,  don’t  you  know. 

Arnold.  Poor  fellow  ! I — er— I’ve  not  yet  learned  your 
name  ? 

Stanley.  Eh,  name  ? Oh,  yes,  exactly.  Well,  don’t  you 
see,  it’s  like  this.  We’re  officers  of  the — the  5th  Georgia 
Cavalry,  don’t  you  know. 

Arnold.  The  5th  Georgia  Cavalry  ? 

Stanley.  Yes,  the  5th,  yes,  oh  yes.  And  we’ve  got  sep- 
arated—lost,  as  it  were— and  now  we’re  looking  for  our 
regiment,  don’t  you  see  ? (Aside.)  Oh,  why  wasn’t  I born  a 
liar  ? 

Arnold.  Then  it’s  very  fortunate  that  you’ve  come  to  my 
house,  sir,  for  I can  easily  help  you  to  find  your  regiment.  I 
have  just  been  informed  where  the  5th  Georgia  is  encamped. 

Stanley.  Really  ? How  extremely  nice  1 (Aside.)  Con- 
found it  ! why  didn’t  I say  the  10th  Georgia  ? 

Arnold.  Yes,  one  of  your  brother  officers — Captain  Miles 
— was  here  a few  moments  ago.  You  know  Captain  Miles, 
of  course  ? 

Stanley.  Do  I know  old  Miles  ? Well,  I should  think  I 
ought  to  ! (Aside.)  I wish  old  Miles  were  dead. 

Arnold.  Well,  he  informed  me  that  your  regiment  lies 
only  three  or  four  miles  from  here,  on  the  Amherst  road. 

44 


BETWEEN  TWO  FOES 


Stanley.  I say,  that’s  most  uncommonly  deuced  great 
uck  for  us,  now,  isn’t  it  ? (Aside.)  Confound  it ! 

Arnold.  And  I can  easily  take  you  there  in  the  moi  ning, 
3r  even  to-night,  if  the  matter  is  urgent. 

Stanley.  Oh,  no,  no,  no,  no  ! Awf’ly  good  of  you,  ot 
course,  but  I really  couldn't  allow  you  to  do  that  to-night. 
' To  Hastings.)  Colonel,  we’re  in  a deuce  of  a scrape. 
v Hastings  (to  Stanley).  I’m  afraid  we  are; 

Stanley  (to  Hastings).  Well,  when  you’re  in  a hole 
like  this  there’s  never  but  one  thing  to  do. 

Hastings  (to  Stanley).  What  is  that  ? 

Stanley  (to  Hastings).  Haven’t  the  least  idea.  But  i 
guess  we’d  better  take  to  the  woods  again,  anyhow. 

Hastings  (/<?  Stanley).  Yes.  You  slip  out  as  quietly  as 
you  can,  and  I will  follow.  ( Goes  to  cradle .)  What  a lovely 
child  1 Your  grandson,  sir  ? 


(Exit  Stanley,  c.  d.) 

Arnold.  My  grand-nephew.  . 

Hastings.  You  must  be  very  fond  of  him.  (As  ij  to 
pick  him  up;  then  turns  away.)  No,  no,  I must  not.  I 
am  too  ragged  and  wet. 

Arnold.  Bless  me!  so  you  are  wet  ! Why  did  I 
think  of  that  before  ? Come  with  me.  Perhaps  lean 
you  some  dry  clothes. 

(Pulls  him  towards  I 


not 

find 


>•) 


Hastings  (protesting).  But,  my  dear  sir  ! 
Arnold.  Nay,  not  a word.  Come  with  me. 


(He  drags  Hastings  off,  l.  d.  Enter  Stanley,  c.  d.) 

Stanley.  Why  doesn’t  he  hurry  ? Not  here  ! Where 
has  he  gone?  Ah,  what  a beautiful  supper!  I wish  I 
wasn’t  quite  so  hungry.  (Hesitates  ; business.)  It  s no  use. 
I must  have  one  bite. 


(Sits  and  eats , back  to  R.  D.  Enter  Kitty,  r.  d.) 

Kitty  (aside).  Who  is  that  ? He’s  stealing  our  supper  ! 
(Gets  an  old  musket , up , and  advances.  Aloud.)  Stop  ! 
What  are  you  doing  there?  (He  turns.)  Bob  Stanley! 
(She  drops  the  musket  with  a bang.) 

Stanley  (coolly , mouth  full).  How-de-do,  Miss  Kitty  ? 
Kitty  ( nervously ).  Are  you — sure — you  re  not  a ghost  ? 
Stanley.  Can’t  say.  I’m  as  hollow  as  one,  anyhow.  Yes. 
Kitty  [tenderly).  Oh,  Bob  ! Are  you  so  very  hungry  ? 
STANLEY.  Who,  I ? Hungry  ? (. Looking  away  from 

45 


BETWEEN  TWO  FOES 


table  with  difficulty .)  Certainly  not.  Why  should  I be 
hungry  ? 

Kitty.  Really  and  truly  ? 

Stanley.  Well,  haven’t  I been  living  at  the  Hotel  Libby 
for  the  last  six  months  ? And  don’t  you  think  a fellow’s 
got  something  else  to  do  there  besides  eat,  eh  ? ( Sentimen- 

tally,.)  But  I say,  Kitty,  do  you  realize  it’s  over  three  years 
since  I saw  you  last  ? 

Kitty.  It  seems  like  a lifetime  to  me.  I’m  an  old  wo- 
man now. 

Stanley.  Ye-es,  I noticed  that  the  moment  I saw  you. 
False  hair,  false  teeth,  false  complexion,  false  everything. 
You  must  be  nearly  twenty.  Poor  old  lady  ! Nothing  to 
live  for  any  longer. 

(He  cant  keep  his  eyes  from  the  supper  table . She  sud~ 
denly  discovers  this.) 

Kitty.  Bob,  I do  believe  you’re  starving  ! Sit  right 
down  here  and  eat. 

Stanley.  Do  you  mean  it  ? 

Kitty.  I reckon  I do.  (Aside.)  He  shall  have  my  share. 
(He  sits  at  table  ; she  helping  him.)  Have  some  omelet  ? 

Stanley.  No,  thanks.  I — I mean,  yes,  please.  (She  helps 
him.)  Oh,  not  so  much.  Well,  well,  if  you  insist,  of  course. 

(He  eats  j she  watches  him , and  helps  him  from  time  to 
time.  He  appears  very  iiervous  and  excited , and  starts 
and  jumps  at  every  sound . Much  business.) 

Kitty.  Say,  what  in  the  world  brings  you  here  now,  I 
should  like  to  know  ? 

Stanley.  Oh,  I’m  just  travelling  around  for  my  health. 
How  come  you  here  ? 

Kitty.  Why,  I live  here  ? 

Stanley  (astonished).  Live  here  ? 

Kitty.  Yes,  with  my  uncle,  and  Agnes,  and  the  baby. 
Stanley.  With  your  uncle  ! And  Agnes  ! And  the 
baby  ! Pinch  me.  (Kitty  pinches  him.)  That’ll  do  ! 
Yes,  I’m  awake.  Does  Agnes  know  that  Allan  is  here  ? 
Kitty.  Allan  ! Where  ? 

Stanley.  Oh,  anywhere — here  ! This  house. 

Kitty.  For  goodness’  sake  ! What  is  coming  next  ? 

(Enter  Agnes,  R.  d.,  and  goes  to  cradle , not  seeing  others. 
At  same  mo?nent  enter  Hastings  a7id  Arnold,  l.  d.) 

Hastings  (seeing  her).  Agnes  ! (Advances.) 

Agnes  (turning).  You,  Allan  ! 

46 


BETWEEN  TWO  EOES 


Hastings  ( appealingly ).  Agnes  ! Wife  ! Will  you 

not  forgive — ? 

Agnes  ( haughtily ).  Stand  back  ! You  shall  not  come 
near  me. 

Hastings  (confused).  Why — why  are  you  here  ? 

Agnes  (to  Arnold).  Answer  him. 

Arnold.  She  is  living  here  with  me  and  her  little 
child — 

Hastings  (confused  and  agitated).  Child?  child?  You 
mean — our  child  ? Let  me  see  him  ! I will  see  him  1 
(Stefs  towards  cradlei) 

Agnes  (interposing).  No,  you  shall  not ! 

Hastings  (becoming  aroused).  I say  I will. 

Agnes  (with  great  power).  And  I say  no.  (Dramatic 
pause.) 

Stanley  (aside  to  Kitty,  with  a gesture).  Come. 

(Exeunt  Stanley  and  Kitty,  r.  d.,  in  silence.  During  the 

proceeding  Arnold  has  been  dumb  with  amazement , but 

now  recovers .) 

Arnold  (aside).  This  must  be  Allan  Hastings.  (Aloud.) 
Agnes,  my  dear  child,  don’t  be  cruel.  Listen  to  me. 

Agnes.  I will  listen  to  no  one  now.  I must  judge  this 
man  myself. 

Hastings  (indicating  cradle ).  You  forget  I am  his 
father. 

Agnes.  It  is  what  I can  never  forget.  (Hastings  ad- 
vances a step.  She  raises  her  hand.)  No  ! Leave  the 
house  ! 

Arnold.  Nay,  my  daughter.  He  is  your  husband.  Say 
you  will  forgive  him. 

Agnes.  How  can  I forgive  the  man  who  once  so  cruelly, 
brutally,  drove  me  out  into  the  world,  with  a miserable  stain 
upon  my  honor  ; and  left  me  to  face  the  perils  of  mother- 
hood alone,  among  strangers  ? But  for  you,  my  tender, 
loving  father,  I should  have  died  long  ago.  (Weeps  on 
Arnold’s  shoulder.)  I wish  to  God  I had  ! 

Arnold  (soothingly).  There,  there,  my  child  ! Don’t 
cry.  Look  at  me  and  be  brave.  (He  weeps.)  Be  brave  and 
— forgiving. 

Hastings.  Agnes,  I have  done  you  a cruel  wrong,  but 
it  was  not  till  long  after  that  I learned  the  true  story  of  that 
dreadful  night.  I have  bitterly  repented  of  my  folly  ever 
since  ; and  daily,  hourly,  have  I striven  to  atone  for  my 
sin. 

Agnes.  Your  repentance  comes  too  late.  Nothing  can 

47 


BETWEEN  TWO  EOES 


ever  wipe  out  the  past.  Why  are  you  here  ? Why  have 
you  been  condemned  to  death  like  a common  murderer  ? 

Hastings.  I am  accused  of  having  broken  my  parole. 

Agnes.  And  you  are  guilty  ! 

Hastings.  No. 

{Enter  Stanley,  r.  d.) 

Stanley.  Allow  me  to  explain. 

Agnes.  Mr.  Stanley  ! 

Stanley.  Same  man.  I give  you  my  word  of  honor  that 
Colonel  Hastings  is  not  guilty  of  the  crime  he  is  charged 
with. 

Hastings.  No,  I am  innocent.  Yet  for  weeks  I have 
waited  for  the  summons  to  go  forth  to  death — ah,  that  awful 
agony  of  suspense  ! — but  day  and  night  I have  kept  hidden 
here  this  little  vial  of  poison — to  cheat  the  gallows  at  the 
last.  {Shows  small  vial  of  poison.) 

Arnold.  “ Man’s  inhumanity  to  man  makes  countless 
thousands  mourn.” 

Hastings.  Then  at  last  came  a chance  to  escape,  and 
with  the  help  of  this  brave  man  here — 

Stanley.  No  time  for  compliments  now,  Colonel. 

Hastings.  I was  once  more  free  ; and  now  we  are  al- 
most within  sight  of  the  Old  Flag  and  salvation. 

Agnes.  Do  you  know  why  your — execution — has  been  so 
long  delayed  ? 

Hastings.  No. 

Agnes  {bitterly).  The  Federals  are  holding  my  brother 
as  your  hostage. 

Hastings.  Richard  my  hostage  ! Then  my  escape  means 
his  safety  ! I will  get  through.  Come,  Stanley. 

{He  starts  for  c.  D.  Enter  Kitty,  hurriedly , R.  d.) 

Kitty.  Hurry,  hurry  ! Hide  somewhere.  There’s  a 
troop  of  cavalry  up  the  road. 

{Sound  of  a troop  of  horse  heard  without , growing  rapidly 
louder.) 

Stanley.  Quick,  Colonel.  This  way.  {To  c.  d.)  We 
can  dodge  them  in  the  dark. 

Kitty.  No,  no,  they’re  coming  that  way. 

Agnes.  Allan,  come  with  me.  {To  r.)  Kitty,  hide  him 
over  there.  {Pouits  L.)  We  must  save  them  both. 

( Very  loud  knocks , C.  D.) 

Arnold.  Yes,  yes,  let  us  hurry. 

48 


BETWEEN  TWO  FOES 


( Exeunt  Hastings,  Agnes  and  Arnold,  r.  d.,  Kitty  and 

Stanley,  l.  d.,  all  hurriedly.  Enter  Sergeant  Thayer 

and  two  troopers , C.  D.  He  stations  them  at  R.  D.  and 

l.  d.  Then  enter  Miles,  c.  d.) 

Miles.  House  empty,  Sergeant  ? 

Sergeant.  Seems  to  be,  sir  ; but  I reckon  our  man  is 
here. 

Miles.  Well,  we  must  find  him  if  he  is.  Have  the  place 
surrounded  by  a guard,  and  instruct  the  men  to  fire  upon 
any  one  leaving  it.  Then  report  again  to  me.  Look  sharp, 
now. 

Sergeant.  Very  good,  sir. 

(Exit,  c.  d.) 

Miles.  I’m  afraid  the  poor  wretch  can’t  escape.  I wish 
he  might,  yet  I dare  not  disobey  my  orders. 

(Enter  Arnold,  r.  d.) 

Arnold.  I beg  pardon,  but — ( recognizes  him ) — Captain 
Miles  ! 

Miles.  Believe  me,  sir,  I deeply  regret  having  to  disturb 
you  again  at  this  late  hour,  but  information  has  come  to  me 
that  an  important  escaped  Union  prisoner  is  concealed  here, 
and  I have  been  ordered — against  my  will,  I need  not  assure 
you — to  arrest  him. 

(Enter  Agnes,  r.  d.) 

Agnes  (to  Arnold).  They’re  safe.  Kitty  will  guide 
them  to  the  woods.  (Aloud.)  Ah,  Captain  Miles  ! We’re 
happy  to  see  you  again. 

Miles  (bowing).  Madam,  I thank  you.  I trust  I shall 
be  able  to  perform  a most  unpleasant  duty  without  distress- 
ing  you  ? 

Agnes.  We  are  Virginians,  Captain.  The  house  is  yours. 

Miles.  Your  words  do  you  infinite  honor. 

(Enter  Kitty,  l.  d.  She  bows  to  Miles  ; then  aside 
to  Agnes.) 

Kitty.  Don’t  let  him  search.  They’re  both  upstairs ; 
they  can’t  escape — the  house  is  surrounded. 

Agnes.  Ah  ! 

Miles.  I am  quite  sure  my  search  will  prove  fruitless,  yet 
for  form’s  sake — 

Agnes  (excitedly).  No,  no,  Captain,  you  will  not  find 
him  here.  You  need  not  look. 

4 49 


BETWEEN  TWO  FOES 


{Enter  Sergeant,  c.  d.) 

Miles.  I’m  afraid  I must.  We  will  begin  upstairs. 
Sergeant  ! 

Agnes.  No,  no,  stop  ! You  must  not  go  there. 

Miles  {surprised).  Indeed!  But  just  now  you  said — 
Agnes.  I know  it ; but  I had — forgotten — 

Miles.  Ah  ! Forgotten — ? 

Agnes  {agitated).  That — that  my  baby  is  upstairs — very 
ill.  No,  no,  you  must  not  go  there.  {To  Arnold.)  Oh, 
send  them  away  ! He  is  still  in  the  house. 

Arnold  {aside;  distressed).  Dear  me  ! 

Miles.  Well,  Mr.  Arnold,  under  the  circumstances,  I 
will  so  far  disobey  my  orders  as  not  to  search  your  house  if 
you  will  give  me  your  solemn  assurance,  as  a gentleman 
and  a clergyman,  that  the  man  I want  is  not  here. 

Arnold  {aside).  Heaven  help  me  ! What  shall  I 
say  ? 

Sergeant  {to  Miles).  Captain,  her  baby  isn’t  upstairs 
at  all,  but  over  yon  in  the  cradle. 

Miles  (A?  Sergeant).  I know  it.  {To  Arnold.)  Well, 
sir  ? 

Arnold.  One  moment.  Let  me  think.  There  was  an 
escaped  prisoner  here — an  hour  ago — but  he — he — 

Agnes.  He  has  gone — down  the  road — follow  quickly — 
you  can  overtake  him. 

Miles  {to  Arnold).  Is  this  true,  sir  ? Pardon  me, 
madam,  I do  not  doubt  your  word,  but  you  may  be — mis- 
taken. {A  dramatic  pause , during  which  Arnold  is  seen 
to  be  having  a severe  mental  struggle.  Miles  becomes  im- 
patient.) You  do  not  answer.  Sergeant,  take  two  men 
and  search — upstairs. 

{He  points  right.  Sergeant  and  two  men  start  for  r.  d. 

Enter  Stanley,  l.  d.,  and  pauses  there  in  full  sight.) 

Stanley  {quietly).  This  way,  Captain,  if  you’re  looking 
for  me. 

All  {exclaiming).  Oh  ! 

Miles  {advancing).  You’re  my  prisoner,  sir. 

Stanley.  It  certainly  has  that  appearance.  Yes. 

{The  two  soldiers  cross  quickly  and  stand  on  either  side  of 
Stanley,  near  l.  f.  This  is  done  in  obedience  to  a gesture 
from  Miles.  Sergeant  is  near  c.  d.  At  this  moment 
is  heard  just  without  c.  D.  a loud  challenge.) 

Voice  {outside  c.  d.).  Halt ! Who  goes  there  ? 

50 


BETWEEN  TWO  FOES 


( Then  comes  the  sound  of  scuffling,  voices,  followed  by  two 
shots  in  quick  succession,  and  more  cries . Agnes  and 
Kitty  both  scream  in  terror,  and  Agnes  seems  about  to 
fall  from  weakness,  when  Arnold  catches  her  and  helps 
her  to  a chair  near  the  baby' s cradle.) 

Miles  (sharply).  See  what  it  is,  Sergeant. 

(Sergeant  steps  outside,  but  in  sight  through  c.  D.,  talking 
to  sentry.) 

Sergeant.  Some  one  has  run  the  guard,  sir,  and  escaped 
from  the  house.  Shall  we  pursue,  sir  ? 

Miles  (tur?iing  abruptly  to  Stanley).  What  is  your 
name  ? 

Stanley  (calmly).  Colonel  Allan  Hastings,  U.  S.  A. 
Miles.  This  is  our  man.  Let  the  other  poor  fellow  go. 

(Kitty  gets  close  to  Stanley,  the7i  suddenly  seizes  his  hand 
and  kisses  it.) 

Kitty  (aside  to  Stanley).  Oh,  Bob,  you’re  just  splendid  ! 

(Kitty  back  to  Arnold,  near  r.  Stanley  looks  much 
surprised  at  first,  then  smiles  and  kisses  his  own  hand 
where  Kitty’s  lips  touched  it.  Then  Sergeant  arid 
Soldiers  close  about  him,  obeying  a gesture  from  Miles, 
and  all  march  out  c.  D.,  Miles  last,  and  he  bows  with 
much  courtesy  to  all  as  he  goes.  As  Stanley  passes 
Arnold  the  old  man  silently  blesses  hi?n.  Music  pp.) 

SLOW  ACT  DROP 


5T 


U.  OF  ILL  U& 


ACT  III 


SCENE. — The  encampment  of  the  2d  Division , 5th  Corps , 
detached  from  Sheridans  army ; Maj.-Gen.  Douglas 
commanding . The  camp  is  about  ten  miles  from  Appo- 
mattox Court  House , Virginia.  Date , April  qth,  1865, 
i.  e.,  the  day  of  Lee  s surrender.  Hour , just  before  sun- 
rise. Stage  is  clear , except  at  L.  2 E.  is  the  tent  of  Gen. 
Douglas  ; and  close  to  it,  down,  is  a small  portable  table , 
with  telegraph  instruments , field  electric  batteries,  etc. 
A telegraph  wire  stretches  across  the  stage,  about  ten 
feet  in  air.  The  back  cloth  is  painted  to  show  the  ca?np. 

( Curtain  discovers  stage  dark,  with  a faint  glow  in  the 
east — the  back — which  steadily  increases  until  sunrise. 
Sentry  is  pacing  tip  and  down  in  front  of  the  tent , 
and  Telegraph  Operator  is  dozing  with  his  head  on 
the  table.  Sentry  rouses  Operator.) 

Sentry.  Wake  up  ! Wake  up  ! It’s  most  sunrise  ! 
Operator  ( rousing  and  stretching ).  It  ain’t.  It’ll  be 
hours  yet.  Can’t  you  leave  a man  be  ! (. Rises .)  Ah-h  ! 

I’m  frozen  stiff.  Been  on  duty  here  for  twelve  hours  straight. 

(. Resumes  seat.  Enter  Douglas  and  Whitney,  from  tent. 
Both  dressed  in  field  uniform,  overcoats,  boots,  swords . 

Douglas.  Is  the  wire  working  yet,  Operator  ? 
Operator.  No,  General.  I’ve  not  been  able  to  call  Gen- 
eral Grant’s  headquarters  since  ’leven  o’clock  last  night, 
when  the  line  was  cut. 

Whitney.  By  some  Confederate  scouting  party,  un- 
doubtedly. 

Douglas.  It  is  absolutely  necessary  that  we  re-establish 
communication  with  General  Grant  at  once.  Colonel  Whit- 
ney ! 

Whitney.  General  ! 

Douglas.  Send  out  a strong  party  of  men  to  repair  this 
wire  immediately. 

Whitney.  Very  well,  sir.  I have  only  been  waiting  for 
daylight  to  do  this. 

( Exit  Whitney,  r.  Enter  Thorpe,  l.  As  he  advances , 
the  Sentry  halts  him.) 

52 


BETWEEN  TWO  FOES 


Sentry.  Halt! 

Thorpe  ( impatiently ).  I must  see  General  Douglas  at 

once.  I have  important  despatches. 

Douglas.  Captain  Thorpe  ! What  is  it  ? 

Thorpe  {saluting).  Orders  from  General  Grant,  sir. 

Douglas.  Let  me  have  them.  ( Takes  papei * and  reads.) 
To  Major-General  John  Douglas,  Sir  : — It  is  of  the  highest 
military  importance  that  you  hold  your  present  position. 
An  attempt  will  be  made  by  the  enemy  to-day  to  break  your 
line.  You  must  check  this  at  all  cost.  I will  start  McLean’s 
division  at  daylight  to  reinforce  you.  The  enemy  cannot 
escape  us  now  except  by  our  own  blunders.  {Signed.)  U.  S. 
Grant,  Lieut.-Gen.  Commanding.  {Speaks.)  Very  well, 
Captain.  My  compliments  to  General  Grant,  and  say  that 
we  will  “ fight  it  out  on  this  line  if  it  takes  all  summer.” 

Thorpe  {laughing).  General  Grant  will  appreciate  the 
message,  I’m  sure,  sir.  {Salutes  and  goes  L.) 

Douglas  {recalling  Thorpe).  Captain  ! What  time 
did  you  leave  headquarters  ? 

Thorpe.  About  midnight.  As  soon  as  our  telegraphic 
communication  was  broken  the  General  directed  me  to  get 
this  order  to  you  at  any  risk.  Owing  to  the  storm  and  dark- 
ness I have  had  great  difficulty  in  finding  your  position  ; and 
I was  once  compelled  to  ride  straight  through  an  encamp- 
ment of  the  enemy  who  captured  my  two  orderlies. 

Douglas.  I will  send  an  escort  back  with  you  if  you 
wish  it  ? 

Thorpe.  Thank  you,  General,  but  it  will  not  be  neces- 
sary ; and  besides  you  will  need  every  one  of  your  men  here 
before  long. 

Douglas.  At  least  you  will  take  breakfast  with  us  ? 

Thorpe.  Why,  thank  you,  General,  I will  accept  a cup 
of  coffee,  for  I’m  beginning  to  feel  a little  weary. 

( Both  move  towards  tent;  Thorpe  staggers ; Douglas 
catches  his  arm  ; Thorpe  groans.) 

Douglas.  What’s  the  matter  ? Why,  you’re  wounded  ! 
Your  coat  is  all  blood. 

Thorpe  {faintly).  A mere  scratch — last  night — most 
forgotten  it. 

Douglas.  Come.  My  surgeon  must  see  this  at  once. 

{Exeunt  both  into  tent.  Broad  daylight , sunrise.  Bugle 

sounds  the  “ Reveille .”  Then  another  and  another  takes 

it  up , each  fainter  and  fainter , as  if  farther  away. 

Then  the  fifes  and  drums  take  up  the  signal , Entey 

53 


BETWEEN  TWO  FOES 


Guard-relief  R.  3 E.  The  Relief  consists  of  ten 
soldiers  in  uniforjn,  without  overcoats , arms  at  a carry . 
The  Corporal  in  charge  of  squad  7narches  at  the  rear , 
7iear  left  file.  The  Corporal  of  relieved  guard  7narches 
at  right  of  leading  rank.  Squad  marches  to  centred) 

Corporal.  Relief — halt.  ( Squad  halts.)  Number  two, 
arms — port. 

(At  this  command  the  Sentry  on  duty  a7id  the  soldier  at 
head  of  relief  both  come  to  a port  arms , and  approach 
each  other.) 

First  Sentry.  The  countersign  is  Vicksburg. 

Second  Sentry.  Vicksburg. 

(The  relieved  Sentry  takes  the  other  s place  in  the  squad , 
and  the  new  Sentry  assumes  his  position  before  the 
tent.) 

Corporal.  Right  shoulder  arms — march. 

(The  squad  marches  off  stage  at  L.  3 E.  Enter  Douglas 
and  Thorpe  fro7n  tent.  Thorpe’s  left  arm  is  bandaged 
a7id  drawn  out  of  coat  sleeve.) 

Douglas.  I still  think,  Captain,  you  had  better  let  me 
send  one  of  my  own  staff  to  headquarters  in  your  place. 

Thorpe.  No,  General,  no.  I’m  all  right  now,  I assure 
you.  This  scratch  is  nothing. 

Douglas.  Dr.  Fleming  said  you’d  have  bled  to  death  in 
another  hour. 

Thorpe.  Well,  I’m  all  right  now,  and  by  daylight  the 
ride  back  is  easy.  (Saluting.)  General. 

Douglas  (saluting).  Captain.  (Exit  Thorpe,  r.) 
Operator,  you  will  not  leave  your  instrument  a moment 
until  relieved.  Let  me  know  at  once  when  communication 
is  re-established. 

Operator.  Yes,  General. 

(Enter  Whitney.  Salutes.) 

Whitney.  I have  the  honor  to  report,  sir,  that  the  party 
to  repair  the  telegraph  wire  has  started. 

Douglas.  Very  well.  Now  I wish  you  to  post  another 
line  of  pickets  four  hundred  yards  in  advance  of  the  present 
outposts,  and  entirely  encircling  the  camp. 

Whitney.  Very  good,  sir. 

Douglas.  Then  despatch  a ‘troop  of  mounted  men 
under  Captain  Merrill  to  make  a reconnaissance  along  the 
Lanesville  road. 


54 


BETWEEN  TWO  FOES 


Whitney.  Very  good,  General.  Is  that  all  ? 

Douglas.  No.  Let  Major  Dana  take  his  regiment  of 
cavalry  and  make  a general  reconnaissance  in  force  towards 
the  southeast.  He  may  use  his  own  discretion  as  to  the 
details,  but  he  must  not  go  more  than  three  miles.  Under- 
stand ? 

Whitney.  I understand,  sir.  (Salutes ; goes  R.) 

Douglas.  Colonel.  (Whitney  returns .)  Also  instruct 
the  regimental  commanders  to  get  their  men  under  arms  at 
once  ; let  them  have  breakfast,  and  supply  them  with  forty 
rounds  and  three  days*  cooked  rations. 

Whitney.  That  means  a march  and  a fight,  sir  ? 

Douglas.  Yes.  Lee  will  probably  attempt  to  break 
through  our  lines  at  this  point  some  time  to-day. 

Whitney.  But  can  he  succeed,  General  ? 

Douglas.  We’re  here  to  prevent  it,  Colonel,  and  we’re 
going  to  do  it.  That  is  all. 

Whitney.  Very  good,  sir. 

( Salute . Exit  Whitney,  r.  Enter  Corporal  of  the 
guard , l.,  with  Johnson.) 

Douglas.  Is  the  line  working  yet,  Operator  ? 

Operator.  Not  yet,  General. 

(Corporal  and  Johnson  down.  Salute .) 

Douglas.  Well,  Corporal,  what  is  it  ? 

Corporal.  This  man  has  been  stopped  by  our  videttes, 
sir,  and  he  asked  to  be  brought  to  you,  sir. 

Douglas  (aside).  It  is  Johnson,  my  scout.  (Aloud.) 
Very  well,  Corporal.  I know  the  man.  You  may  go.  (Exit 
Corporal,  with  salute , r.  To  Johnson,  eagerly.)  Well, 
Johnson,  what  news  have  you  ? 

Johnson  (drawling).  I’ve  jist  come  through  the  rebel 
lines — General  Gordon’s  headquarters,  sir. 

Douglas.  Where  is  he  now  ? 

Johnson.  Near  Planterstown,  twelve  miles  from  here.  I 
left  there  ’bout  ’n  hour  after  midnight,  an’  I bin’  travellin’ 
ever  sence.  Terriblest,  hardest  time  I ever  experienced  en- 
durin’ the  war. 

Douglas.  How  many  men  has  Gordon  ? 

Johnson.  ’Bout  sixteen  thousand,  sir. 

Douglas.  Do  you  know  what  his  plans  are  ? 

Johnson.  Wal,  yes,  purty  near.  I heerd  it  right  straight 
last  night  that  Lee  had  ordered  him  to  jump  at  your  line 
early  to-day,  and  make  an  openin’  fur  th’  rest  of  ’em  to  get 
through  by. 


55 


BETWEEN  TWO  FOES 


Douglas  ( aside ).  That  confirms  General  Grant’s  mes- 
sage. (Aloud.)  In  what  shape  are  Gordon’s  men  ? 

Johnson.  Mighty  tough  shape,  General.  They’re  light 
of  ammunition,  clothes,  grub  and  doggone  near  everythin' 
but  grit.  My,  though  ! but  they’re  a lightin’  lot,  fer  a sure 
thing. 

Douglas.  Did  you  hear  exactly  where  the  attack  would 
be  made  t 

Johnson.  I did  so.  The  talk  at  headquarters  was  thet 
Gordon  was  liable  to  start  about  daylight,  and  go  ez  fur  ez 
he  kin  to  the  west,  along  the  Lanesvilie  road.  When  he’s 
stopped  he’ll  fight,  and  this’ll  give  Lee  a chance  to  slip  in 
behind  us. 

(Douglas  opens  map.) 

Douglas  (studying  map).  On  the  Lanesviile  road  ? 

Johnson  (looking  over  his  shoulder).  There  ’tis,  Gen- 
eral. (Points.)  Here’s  Gordon,  and  here’s  us.  Now  don’t 
you  see,  he’s  got  six  miles  to  go  to  reach  the  cross-roads, 
here  ; while  we  only  got  about  three.  So  all  we  got  to  do  is 
to  git  thar  first,  fortify,  an’  you  got  him  jest  whar  the  old 
’coon  had  Towser.  ’N  thet  ain’t  all  of  it,  neither.  We’ve 
got  th’  hull  of  Lee’s  army  in  th’  same  hole,  from  the  com- 
mandin’ general  down  to  the  littlest  jackass. 

Douglas  (aside).  If  I could  only  reach  General  Grant 
by  telegraph  ! Is  the  line  working  yet,  Operator  ? 

Operator.  Not  yet,  General. 

Douglas  (excitedly,  half  aside).  Curse  it ! If  I were 
only  not  tied  down  to  this  spot  ! Here  is  Gordon  turning 
my  left  flank,  Lee  slipping  out  behind  me,  and  I am  power- 
less to  stop  them.  Why  has  General  Grant  ordered  me  to 
remain  here  ? 

Johnson.  Oh,  he  has,  has  he  ! Wal,  General,  I don’t 
know  why  General  Grant  has  ordered  you  to  stay  right  here, 
but  Ido  know  he’s  got  a mighty  good  reason  fur  it,  some- 
where. If  old  Useless  told  you  to  wait  here  fur  orders,  I 
guess  you’d  better  stay  here — and — wait — fur — orders. 

Douglas  (angrily).  That  will  do,  my  man.  I don’t  re- 
quire your  advice.  Is  that  all  you’ve  got  to  report  ? 

Johnson.  No,  ’tain’t. 

Douglas.  Well,  go  on.  What  is  it  ? 

(Enter  Whitney,  r.) 

JOHNSON.  Wal,  while  I was  bangin’  round  Gordon’s  head- 
quarters last  night,  General,  a scoutin’  party  fetched  in  a 
Union  officer  they  ketched  escapin’ from  Libby, 


BETWEEN  TWO  FOES 


Douglas  ( carelessly ).  Did  you  learn  his  name  ? 

Johnson.  Wal,  he  said  he  was  Colonel  Hastings. 

Douglas  ( startled ).  Allan  Hastings!  Of  my  staff? 

Johnson.  Identical  man,  sir. 

Whitney  ( advancing ).  Poor  fellow  ! I’m  afraid  that’s 
the  last  of  him. 

Johnson.  Wal,  yes,  Colonel,  I guess  that’s  about  so,  fer 
I heerd  the  order  given  for  to  shoot  him  immediately. 

Whitney.  At  midnight ! You  must  be  mistaken.  Such 
a thing  is  unprecedented. 

Johnson.  I dunno  jest  what  un — press — e — dented 
means,  m’self,  but  I do  know  that  the  hull  command  was 
under  orders  to  march  before  daylight  ; an’  they  was  afeerd 
the  prisoner  might  give  ’em  the  slip  agin,  same  as  he  done 
twice  afore,  if  they  didn’t  hurry  up  an’  make  sure. 

Douglas.  Did  you  witness  this  execution  yourself? 

Johnson.  Nope,  I did  not ; an’  I’ll  tell  ye  fur  why.  I did 
see  the  escort  and  firin’  party  marched  out,  an’  I actually 
see  ’em  preparin’  to  blindfold  the  prisoner,  when  just  about 
then — kerwhish  ! whush  ! bing  ! bang  ! rip  ! roar — I’m  a 
nigger  if  a bully  little  Yankee  officer  on  a rippin’  bay  hoss — 
oh,  they  was  sure  a dandy  team — an’  two  orderlies  behind 
him — well,  if  them  three  didn’t  ride  hell  fur  leather  plumb 
through  the  camp,  knockin’  down  tents  an’  generals  and 
privates,  jest  like  a lot  of  nine-pins — ho  ! ho  ! ho  ! Every 
jackass  a-brayin’,  an’  every  fool  of  a sentry  a-loosin’  off  his 
rifle,  ’parently  aimin’ at  the  noise.  Ho  ! ho  ! ho  ! That  little 
Yankee  boy  ! he  was  sure  a very  game  bird,  an’  he  got  away 
all  right,  but  I guess  the  orderlies  they  was  gobbled  up.  It 
was  endurin’  this  confusion  that  I took  the  chanst  to  clear 
out.  Ho  ! ho  ! ho  ! I just  wisht  I knew  that  bully  little 
officer’s  name. 

Whitney.  It  was  undoubtedly  Captain  Thorpe,  of  Gen- 
eral Grant’s  staff. 

Johnson.  Wal,  now,  he’s  a reg’lar  Jim  Dandy,  whatever’s 
his  name,  an’  so’s  his  hoss. 

Douglas.  Therefore  you  did  not  see  this  execution  your- 
self? 

Johnson.  No  more’n  what  I’ve  said,  but  I’d  be  willin’  to 
swear  it  took  place.  Why,  they  was  almost  jest  pullin’  the 
triggers  then.  Oh,  I tell  ye,  General,  them  fellers  yonder  are 
in  desprit  earnest  now  ’bout  everythin’ ; and  the  day  has 
come  right  now  when  one  man’s  life  don’t  count  fer  nothin’ 
with  them,  while  half  an  hour’s  lost  time  may  mean  an  all- 
fired  big  lickin’.  An’  that’s  why  I’s  sure  that  Colonel  Hast- 
ings was  shot  \s  if  I see  it  done.  They  couldn’t  spare  the 

57 


BETWEEN  TWO  FOES 


time  not  to  do  it.  D’ye  see  ? An’  more’n  that,  I hadn’t 
been  started  five  minutes  when  I heerd  the  firin’  volley. 

Douglas.  Yes,  I believe  you’re  right  ; there  remains  no 
more  doubt  that  Colonel  Hastings  has  been  executed — ille- 
gally. Fall  back.  (JOHNSON  moves  up.)  Colonel  Whitney. 

Whitney  ( down  to  Douglas).  Sir  ? 

Douglas.  We  have  been  holding  Colonel  Curtis  for  some 
time  as  a hostage  for  the  safety  of  Colonel  Hastings.  We 
need  do  so  no  longer. 

Whitney  ( surprised ).  Do  you  mean  he  is  to  be  released  ? 

Douglas.  No — shot — at  once. 

Whitney.  Must  we  do  that,  General  ? 

Douglas.  Yes. 

Whitney.  But  it  seems  so  brutal,  now. 

Douglas.  War  itself  is  brutal,  Colonel.  The  surest  way 
to  end  it  is — by  more  brutality. 

Whitney.  Besides,  can  you  rely  upon  the  absolute  truth 
of  this  report  ? May  not  the  scout  be  mistaken  ? 

Douglas.  You  have  heard  his  story.  I will  answer  for 
his  accuracy  with  my  life.  In  three  years  he  has  never  once 
deceived  me. 

Whitney.  But  a short  delay,  sir — a day  or  two  ? 

Douglas.  Impossible.  [Producing paper .)  Under  this 
order  of  the  Secretary  of  War  I have  absolutely  no  power  to 
grant  any  delay.  (Reads.)  “ As  soon  as  you  shall  learn, 
officially  or  otherwise,  that  Colonel  Allan  Hastings,  now  un- 
der sentence  of  death  in  Richmond,  has  been  executed  by 
the  Confederate  authorities,  you  will  at  once  retaliate  by  put- 
ting to  death,  in  a similar  manner,  the  officer  held  by  you 
as  his  hostage.”  ( Folds  paper.)  That’s  my  warrant,  Colonel, 
and  it  must  be  carried  out — at  once. 

Whitney.  But  surely  you  can  grant  a few  hours’  delay, 
sir  ? 

Douglas.  Not  one  moment’s  delay.  In  half  an  hour  we 
may  be  engaged  in  pitched  battle  with  the  enemy. 

Whitney.  But,  General — 

Douglas  (interrupting,  sternly).  Colonel  Whitney,  I am 
in  command  here. 

Whitney.  I beg  your  pardon,  sir. 

Douglas.  It  is  a fearful  thing  to  have  to  order  the  death 
of  an  innocent  man,  but  it  must  be  done,  and  I will  not  shrink 
from  my  responsibilities.  We  owe  this  to  ourselves  and — 
to  the  dead.  Allan  Hastings  never  did  a dishonorable  act  in 
his  life.  We  believe — we  know — he  was  neither  morally  nor 
technically  guilty  of  having  violated  his  parole.  But  now  he 
lias  suffered  death  upon  that  charge,  and  the  only  way  we 

58 


BETWEEN  TWO  FOES 


can  vindicate  his  good  name  and  honor  is — by  instantly 
carrying  out  this  order.  There  is  no  make-believe  in 
War. 

Whitney.  You  are  right,  General.  It  shall  be  done  at 
once. 

Douglas.  Waste  no  more  time,  sir,  for  we’ve  none  to 
spare. 

Whitney.  Ten  minutes  will  suffice. 


(Salutes , goes  R.) 

Douglas.  Colonel.  (Whitney  turns  back  part  way  to 
DOUGLAS.)  I’ve  been  a soldier  for  more  than  forty  years, 
and  1 know  how  all  men  dislike  to  be  included  in  a firing 
squad.  You  will  therefore  have  eight  rifles  loaded  secretly 
— four  with  ball,  and  four  with  blank  cartridges  ; and  you 
will  see  that  the  men  clearly  understand  this.  I wish  no  one 
to  feel  sure  that  he  has  killed  a brave  enemy  in  such  a 
manner. 

Whitney.  Very  good,  sir.  I will  have  it  done. 

(Whitney  salutes  and  exit  R.) 

Douglas.  Is  the  wire  working  yet,  Operator  ? 

Operator.  Not  yet,  General. 

Douglas  (to  Johnson).  Have  you  anything  more  to  say 
to  me  ? 

Johnson.  Nothin’,  General. 

Douglas.  Then  you  may  go  to  your  quarters  and  get 
breakfast. 


(Johnson  salutes  and  exit , l.  Enter  Merrill,  r.,  hastily .) 

Merrill  (saluting).  General. 

Douglas  (eagerly).  Captain  Merrill  ! What  is  it  ? 

Merrill.  I have  the  honor  to  report,  sir,  that  I encoun- 
tered the  enemy  in  force  on  the  Lanesville  road,  about  three 
miles  from  here. 

Douglas  (examining  map).  The  scout  is  right ! They 
are  trying  to  flank  us.  How  large  was  the  force,  Captain  ? 

Merrill.  Ten  or  twelve  thousand,  I estimated,  sir. 

Douglas.  Which  way  were  they  moving  ? 

Merrill.  They  were  halted  in  column  of  march,  headed 
this  way,  but  standing  at  ease  as  if  resting.  Their  advance 
fired  on  us  and  I lost  two  men. 

Douglas.  Very  good,  Captain.  Is  that  all  ? 

MERRILL.  Yes,  General. 

59 


BETWEEN  TWO  EOES 


(. He  salutes  and  retires  up  to  l.  3 e.  Enter  Whitney, 
right.  Down.) 

Douglas.  Hurry  forward  this  execution,  Colonel.  The 
enemy  are  already  advancing. 

Merrill.  Hark  ! here  comes  the  guard  now,  sir. 

( Music  of  “ Dead  March  in  Saul"  off  R.  Douglas  up 
near  tent , is  joined  there  by  his  staff \ including  Whitney 
and  Merrill.  Enter  a detachment  of  troops , arms  re- 
versed. They  range  themselves  along  upper  and  right 
sides  of  stage , formmg  two  sides  of  a hollow  square. 
Then  enter:  First , the  Provost  Marshal/  second , a 
military  band,  playing  the  Dead  March.  {Or fifes  and 
drums , with  drums  muffled.)  Third , the  firing  party  of 
eight , arms  at  a carry.  Fourth,  four  soldiers  without 
arms,  carrying  a rough  pine  coffin*  Fifth,  the  prisoner, 
Curtis,  without  coat  or  waistcoat,  a white  bandage  over 
his  forehead , ready  to  be  slipped  down  over  his  eyes. 
Sixth,  an  escort  of  eight  men.  As  Curtis  passes  the 
General  and  staff  he  salutes  them  with  dignity ; General 
returns  the  salute.  Then  he  goes  to  L.  F.  and  stands  by 
the  side  of  his  coffin.  The  music  ceases , and  all  the  troops 
come  to  a carry  arms . The  bearers  of  the  coffin  fall  back 
in  the  line  at  right,  and  the  firing  squad  go  to  R.  F.  of 
stage,  and  are  drawn  up  in  line  opposite  Curtis,  who 
appears  perfectly  unconcerned.  The  escort  range  across 
upper  end  of  stage , facing  front.  Then  the  Provost 
Marshal  advances  to  Curtis.) 

Curtis  ( indicating  the  coffin).  Is  this  for  me,  Captain  ? 
Provost  Marshal.  Yes,  Colonel. 

Curtis  ( thoughtfully ).  It  seems  a trifle  short.  Still,  it 
may  answer. 

Provost  Marshal  ( with  emotion).  Is  there  anything 
more  you  wish  to  say  to  me,  sir,  before — ? 

Curtis.  Before  I am  shot  ? I thank  you,  nothing,  except 
to  remind  you  to  care  for  my  papers  and  personal  effects. 

Provost  Marshal.  That  shall  be  done,  I pledge  my 
honor.  But  is  there  nothing  more,  Colonel  ? 

Curtis.  Yes,  one  thing — I beseech  you,  make  haste,  make 
haste.  Suspense  is  worse  than  a thousand  deaths. 

Provost  Marshal.  I will,  Colonel. 

Douglas  (to  Operator).  Is  the  line  working  yet,  Oper- 
ator ? 

Operator.  Not  yet,  General. 

* Amateurs  objecting  to  the  introduction  of  tlie  coffin  may  readily  ojnjt  jt  by  mak> 
ing  slight  change  in  the  text. 

60 


BETWEEN  TWO  EOES 


(Provost  Marshal  starts  to  blindfold  Curtis.) 

Curtis  (i protesting ).  No,  Captain.  I’m  not  afraid  to  look 
death  in  the  face. 

Provost  Marshal.  I’m  sorry,  sir,  but  your  eyes  must 
be  bandaged. 

( Enter  Arnold,  l.  2 e.  His  dress  is  muddy , and  he  is 
greatly  excited .) 

Arnold.  Where  is  he  ? Where’s  my  boy,  Dick  ? (Sees 
Curtis.)  Merciful  God  ! (Embraces  him.)  Oh,  Dick,  Dick  ! 
My  poor  boy  ! Has  it  come  to  this  at  last  ? 

Curtis.  Hush  ! Hush,  uncle  ! 

Provost  Marshal  (to  Arnold  sternly).  You  have  no 
business  here,  sir.  Step  back  ! (Takes  his  arm.) 

Arnold  (resisting),  I will  not  go. 

Curtis.  Hush  ! One  moment,  Captain.  Allow  us  a last 
word  together  ? He  is  a clergyman,  and — an — old — friend. 

Provost  Marshal.  Yes,  Colonel,  but  the  time  is  very 
short. 

(He  retires  a little  up.) 

Arnold.  Ah,  why  will  they  not  take  me  ? It  is  murder 
to  slay  you  thus,  my  poor  boy  ! 

Curtis.  Be  calm,  uncle.  They  will  not  harm  me. 

Arnold.  Not  harm  you,  Dick  ! What  do  you  mean  ? 

Curtis.  They  dare  not. 

Arnold.  Then  why  are  you  here  ? What  mean  these 
solemn  ceremonies  ? Why  are  those  men  drawn  up  as  if  to 
shoot  you  ? Don’t  deceive  me,  Dick,  in  God’s  name,  don’t 
deceive  me. 

(Arnold  affected.) 

Curtis  (aside).  I cannot  tell  him  the  truth,  I shall  break 
down.  (Aloud.)  No,  they’re  only  trying  to  frighten  me  into 
giving  information  about  General  Lee’s  army.  Its  a silly 
trick,  but  I’ve  found  them  out,  you  see.  (Aside.)  Heaven 
forgive  the  lie  ! Only  my  poor  old  uncle  would  believe  such 
a story. 

Arnold.  Then  you’re  not  a hostage  for  Allan  Hastings  ? 

Curtis.  Not  now.  They  tell  me  that  he  no  longer  needs 
a hostage.  (Aside.)  Dead,  God  keep  his  soul — and  mine. 

Arnold  (aside).  I’m  thankful  to  hear  he  is  safe.  I could 
not  find  him  in  the  dark  last  night. 

Whitney  (down,  to  Provost  Marshal).  Captain,  Gen- 
eral Douglas  directs  you  to  proceed  with  this  execution  at 
once. 

61 


BETWEEN  TWO  FOES 


Provost  Marshal.  Very  well,  sir.  {To  Curtis.)  The 
time  is  up,  Colonel. 

Curtis.  One  little  minute  more.  {To  Arnold.)  Say 
good-bye  to  Agnes  and  Kitty  for  me. 

Arnold  {alarmed).  Good-bye  ! what  do  you  mean  ? 
Curtis  {quickly).  I mean,  till  we  meet  again — till  we 
meet  again. 

Arnold.  Yes,  yes,  of  course.  I understand.  But  you’re 
sure  they  will  not  harm  you  now,  my  boy  ? 

Curtis.  I’m  not  the  man  to  be  frightened,  am  I ? 
Arnold  {laughing  softly).  No,  no,  no,  you’re  not  the 
man  for  that,  Dick.  You  were  never  afraid  of  anything, 
were  you  ? Not  even  of  me,  eh  ? Ha,  ha,  ha  ! 

Curtis  {aside).  I can  stand  this  suspense  no  longer.  {To 
Arnold.)  Stand  back  now,  uncle.  It  will  soon  be  over.  A 
kiss  for  Agnes  and  Kitty,  and  good-bye — I mean  au  revoir, 
au  revoir. 

Arnold.  Au  revoir,  my  boy.  Don’t  flinch  now,  and  show 
them  the  true  spirit  of  Old  Virginia.  Ha,  ha,  ha  ! Au  re- 
voir ! They  can’t  frighten  you,  can  they  ? Ha,  ha,  ha  ! 

(Arnold  retires  up  and  L.,  about  L.  2 E.,  and  watches  what 
follows  with  very  evident  amusement , even  laughing  out- 
right at  times , though  quietly.  Every  one  else  on  stage  is 
deeply  affected.  Make  this  contrast  very  apparent  and 
strong  to  the  front.) 

Curtis  {to  Provost  Marshal).  Now  I am  ready,  Cap- 
tain. 

(Provost  Marshal  endeavors  to  blindfold  Curtis,  but  he 
is  so  agitated  that  he  drops  the  bandage  twice.) 

Curtis.  Your  hand  trembles.  Let  me  do  it. 

(Curtis fastens  bandage  over  his  own  eyes.) 

Curtis.  Now  may  I trouble  you  to  lead  me  to  my  place  ? 
I cannot  see.  (Provost  Marshal  seats  him  on  the  coffin.) 
Thank  you. 

Provost  Marshal.  Are  you  ready,  Colonel  ? 

Curtis.  Quite  ready. 

Provost  Marshal  {to  firing  squad).  Men,  you  will  each 
aim  at  the  prisoner’s  heart,  and  fire  at  the  word. 

Curtis  {aside).  Ah  ! why  don’t  they  hurry  ? 

{An  instant  of  perfect  silence  now.  Then  the  telegraph  in - 
trument  is  heard  ticking  loudly.  At  this  instant  HAST- 
INGS forces  his  way  upon  the  stage , at  L.  3 E.,  and  stands 
in  plain  sight  of  audience , half  dazed . 

62 


BETWEEN  TWO  EOES 


Provost  Marshal  (looking  away  from  Curtis).  Ready  ? 
Hastings  (aside,  hoarsely).  Who  is  this — Curtis  ! 
Provost  Marshal.  Aim  ! — 

Hastings.  Hold,  I say  ! 

(Hastings  rushes  in  front  of  Curtis.  All  this  ti7ne  the 
telegraph  instrument  is  ticking  very  loudly .) 

Provost  Marshal.  Fire  ! 

(At  this  command  two  rifles , and  only  two , are  discharged , 
exactly  as  Hastings  reaches  a position  in  front  of  Cup- 
TIS,  so  that  he  himself  receives  the  shots.  He  reels  and 
falls  heavily  at  the  feet  of  CURTIS,  and  instantly  the 
Operator  rushes  down  to  c.  F.,  waving  a paper  and 
shouting.) 

Operator.  Stop ! stop ! The  white  flag  is  up ! Lee 
has  surrendered. 

(Curtis  tears  off  the  bandage  a7id  raises  Hastings  in  his 
arms.  Arnold  kneels  at  his  side.) 

Arnold  (reverently).  Too  late  ! O God,  too  late  ! Thy 
will  be  done.  (Tableau.) 

SLOW  ACT  DROP 


^3 


ACT  IV 


SCENE. — The  great  hall  of  the  Curtis  mansion , situated  a 
few  miles  from  Appomattox  Court  House.  The  house  is 
being  used  as  the  headquarters  of  General  Douglas. 
The  stage  shows  a deep  room , with  a wide  door  at  centre 
in  flat , through  which  can  be  seen  a lawn , thickly 
planted  with  trees  and  flowers ; and  beyond  this , a 
glimpse  of  the  turnpike.  Starting  between  L.  i E.  and 
L.  2 E.  is  an  old  style  practicable  staircase , with  a land- 
ing up  about  five  steps  and  a door  at  top.  Opening  into 
the  hall  are  doors  at  R.  2 E.,  L.  3 E.  and  L.  1 E.  An  old- 
fashioned  fireplace  at  R.  1 E.  The  woodwork  and  furni- 
ture are  all  in  the  early  colo7iial  style.  Date  of  act , 
April  \oth}  1865,  one  day  later  tha7i  Act  III.  Hoitr,  just 
before  su7iset.  As  the  act  progresses  a brillia7it  S7i7iset 
becomes  visible  through  C.  D.,  followed  by  a soft  gray 
twilight  to  curtain. 

( Cur  tarn  discovers  General  Douglas  seated  at  a table 
7iear  R.  F.,  writing.  The  table  is  littered  with  books , 
papers , surgical  instrument  case , sword  a7id  belt , etc. 
A71  Orderly  stands  near  c.  d.,  and  just  outside  the  door 
is  see)i  an  ar7ned  Sentry  pactiig  back  a7id  forth . As 
curtam  rises  a bugle  is  heard  without , sounding  the 
Assembly.) 

Douglas.  Orderly,  take  this  paper  to  Colonel  Whitney, 
with  my  compliments. 

Orderly  [taking  paper ; saluting).  Yes,  sir. 

( Exit  Orderly,  c.  d.  Enter  Fleming  by  the  staircase. 
He  goes  to  Douglas.) 

Douglas.  Ah,  Doctor.  How  is  Colonel  Hastings  this 
evening  ? 

Fleming.  No  better,  General. 

Douglas.  Do  you  consider  his  condition  serious  ? 
Fleming.  Yes,  almost  critical.  How  he  escaped  instant 
death  yesterday  I cannot  see. 

Douglas.  Yet  the  explanation  is  really  very  simple. 
The  men  in  the  firing  squad  were  so  disconcerted  by  the 

64 


BETWEEN  TWO  FOES 


sudden  appearance  of  Colonel  Hastings  that  only  two  obeyed 
the  order  to  fire  ; and  by  a strange  and  most  fortunate 
chance,  only  one  of  those  muskets  was  loaded  with  ball 
cartridge. 

Fleming.  And  it  was  that  bullet  which  wounded  him  in 
the  shoulder. 

Douglas.  Yes  ; but  that  cannot  be  a dangerous  injury  ? 

Fleming.  No  ; of  itself  it  is  not.  But  I have  just  noticed 
some  new  symptoms  which  cause  me  grave  anxiety. 

Douglas.  You  alarm  me,  Doctor.  What  are  they  ? 

( Enter  Orderly,  c.  d.) 

Fleming.  He  is  delirious  at  intervals,  with  a high 
fever,  and  then  he  seems  to  be  haunted  by  an  overwhelming 
dread  of  some  terrible  disaster.  He  has  many  of  the  pre- 
liminary symptoms  of  brain  fever,  yet  in  some  respects  I am 
much  puzzled  about  him.  Will  you  allow  your  Orderly  to 
carry  a message  for  me  ? 

Douglas.  Most  assuredly.  Orderly ! (Orderly  ad- 
vances.) 

Fleming  (to  Orderly).  My  compliments  to  Brigade 
Surgeon  Morris,  and  ask  him  to  meet  me  here  in  an  hour. 
I wish  to  consult  with  him  in  the  case  of  Colonel  Hastings. 

Orderly.  Very  good,  sir.  (Salutes;  exit  l.) 

Douglas.  Will  you  keep  me  informed  of  any  changes  in 
Colonel  Hastings’s  condition,  Doctor  ? 

Fleming.  I will.  General — constantly. 

Douglas.  Thank  you.  Good-evening,  Doctor. 

Fleming.  Good-evening,  General. 

(Exit  Fleming,  r.) 

Douglas  (solus;  tenderly ).  Poor  boy!  If  there  was 
only  something  I could  do  to  help  him  ! (Wipes  his  eyes. 
Then  impatiently .)  Well,  well,  what  a fool  I am  again  ! 
Worrying  over  matters  that  don’t  concern  me  in  the  least ! 
Anyone  would  think  I cared  about  the  lad,  and  all  the  time 
it’s  not  of  the — slightest  importance — whether — my  old  heart 
- — breaks — or  not.  There,  there,  I won’t  allow  such  trifles 
to  annoy  me.  (Sits  and  writes . Enter  Orderly,  l.  d.) 
Well  ? ' 

Orderly.  Dr.  Morris’s  compliments,  sir,  and  he’ll  do 
himself  the  honor  to  meet  Dr.  Fleming  here  in  an  hour. 

Douglas  (impatiently).  Humph  ! Go  back  and  tell  him 
he  needn’t  come.  I’ve  changed  my  mind. 

Orderly.  Very  good,  sir. 

5 65 


BETWEEN  TWO  FOES 


(Orderly  goes  to  l.  d.  Douglas  calls  him.) 


Douglas. 

Orderly. 

Douglas. 

Orderly. 

Douglas. 

are. 

Orderly. 


Orderly  ! 

Sir  ! 

Where  are  you  going  ? 

To  Dr.  Morris,  sir. 

Well,  don’t ! D’ye  hear  ? 

Very  good,  sir. 


Stay  where  you 


(Orderly  resumes  his  place  near  C.  D.  Douglas  writes . 

The  sound  of  talking  just  outside  C.  D.  Sentry  is  seen 

to  stop  three  people.  DOUGLAS  is  visibly  irritated  by  the 

noise.) 

Douglas  ( testily , throwing  down  pen).  Confound  that 
noise  ! My  compliments  out  there,  Orderly,  and  say  that 
row  must  be  stopped.  ( Exit  Orderly,  c.  d.)  Can’t  I have 
one  moment’s  peace  ! ( Enter  Orderly.)  Well,  what  is  it  ? 

Orderly.  Three  civilians  outside,  sir,  wish  permission — 

Douglas.  No  use,  no  use.  Can’t  permit  any  one. 
[Brief  pause;  he  writes.)  What  do  they  want  ? 

Orderly.  They  asked  to  see  the  general  commanding, 
sir,  or  the  medical  director,  sir. 

Douglas.  Humph  ! Did  they  ? Well,  I can’t  see  them. 
[Aside.)  Such  cases  are  coming  to  me  all  the  time,  and 
they’re  generally  such  sad  ones,  that — that  I always  make  a 
— a fool  of  myself.  [Aloud.)  Send  them  to  the — the  hos- 
pital steward. 

Orderly.  Very  good,  sir.  [Goes  slowly , c.  d.) 

Douglas  [aside,  thoughtfully ).  They  want  some  assist- 
ance ! Perhaps  they  are  starving.  [Aloud,  impatiently  to 
Orderly.)  Here,  here,  here,  what  do  you  mean  by  running 
off  like  that,  before  I’ve  half  finished  ? Who  are  these 
people  ? Where  do  they  come  from  ? Why  don’t  you  speak 
up  ? 

Orderly.  There  is  an  old  man,  sir,  and  two  women  and 
a sick  baby,  sir.  They  say  they  live  near  here,  sir. 

Douglas.  Humph!  Frauds,  of  course!  [A  pause; 
then  impatiently .)  Well,  what  are  you  waiting  for  ? 

Orderly.  Nothing,  sir. 


[Exit  c.  d.) 

Douglas  [speaking  and  writing  alternately).  A sick 
baby,  he  said  ! I haven’t  seen  a baby  since  I held  on  my 
knees  my  own  little  grandson,  whose — father — died  at 
Gettysburg.  [Wipes  his  eyes.)  Ah,  well  ! That’s  over 
now,  yet  if  the  fortunes  of  war  had  been  changed,  it  might 

66 


BETWEEN  TWO  TOES 


be  my  own  flesh  and  blood,  who,  in  his  mother’s  arms,  comes 
begging  for — a crust.  (Sniff's.)  There,  there  ! What  an  old 
fool  I am  ! (Sniffs.)  Humph  ! I’m  blessed  if  that  isn’t  a 
tear  ! ( Writes.) 


(Enter  Orderly,  c.  d.  Douglas  starts  several  times  to 
speak  to  him , then  at  last.) 

Douglas.  Orderly  ! 

Orderly.  Sir  ? 

Douglas.  Did  you- 
Orderly.  Yes,  sir. 

Douglas.  Then  why  don’t  you  bring  them  in  here  ? Well, 
well,  what  are  you  staring  at  ? Bring  them  in  here,  I say  ! 
Orderly.  Very  good,  sir. 


-tell  those  people  to — go  to  blazes  ? 


(Exit  Orderly,  c.  d.) 

(Douglas  writes  at  table.  Enter  Orderly,  c.  d.  followed 
by  Agnes,  Kitty  and  Arnold,  who  carries  child.) 

Arnold  (to  Agnes).  Courage,  my  child,  courage.  Sit 
here  and  rest  a moment. 


(Agnes  sits , taking  child  on  her  knee.  The  other  two  near 
her  ; Orderly  at  c.  d.) 

Douglas  (not  looking  up , gruffly).  Well,  what  do  you 
want  ? 

Arnold  (with  dignity).  Sir,  we  ask  nothing  for  our- 
selves, but  for  this  helpless  babe,  whose  tiny  life  is  swiftly 
fading  away — 

Douglas  (writing).  There  ! That  will  do  ! I haven’t 
time  to  hear  your  story.  (Aside.)  Know  I should  make  a 
fool  of  myself  if  I did.  (Aloud.)  You  must  apply  to  the 
Commissary  of  Subsistence.  I have  nothing  to  do  with 
these  cases.  (Aside.)  I will  be  firm. 

(He  turns . Simultaneous  recognition  between  Douglas, 
Agnes  and  Kitty.) 

Agnes.  You,  General  ! 

Douglas.  Agnes  Hastings  ! (Aside.)  With  a child  in 
her  arms  ! (He  beckons  to  Orderly.)  My  compliments  to 
Dr.  Fleming,  and  will  he  be  good  enough  to  step  here  at 
once  ? Quick  ! 

(Orderly  salutes  and  exit , R.) 

Agnes  (with  emotion).  General — Allan — my  husband — 
tell  me,  is  he — he  is  not  dead  ? 

Douglas.  No,  not  dead,  but  gravely  ill. 

67 


BETWEEN  TWO  EOES 


Agnes.  Then  I must  go  to  him.  Where  is  he  ? Tell 
me  where  he  is  ? 

Douglas.  He  is  here — in  this  house. 

Agnes.  Here  ! at  home  ! Oh,  Kitty  ! Come  with  me 
to  see  Allan. 

Douglas.  You  cannot  go.  The  surgeon  forbids  it. 
(Aside.)  I’d  rather  bring  these  two  together  than  win  a 
battle — and  I’ll  do  it  too.  {Aloud,  coldly.)  If  this  is  all  you 
have  to  say  to  me  I’ll  bid  you  good-evening,  as  I’m  very 
busy.  (Turns  away.) 

Agnes.  Ah,  General,  may  I not  see  my  husband  ? 

Douglas.  Certainly  not.  Good-evening.  (Aside.) 
Why  doesn’t  Fleming  hurry  ? 

Arnold.  Come,  my  child.  The  baby  shall  not  die.  We 
will  beg  at  another  door.  Come.  (He  takes  child.) 

(They  turn  slowly  towards  c.  D.  Business  of  DOUGLAS 
starting  several  times  to  check  them.) 

Douglas.  Stop!  (He  goes  to  them.)  Is  the  baby  very 
ill  ? 

Arnold.  We  fear  he  may  be — dying. 

Douglas.  Good  God  ! give  him  to  me.  (Takes  child 
very  tenderly.  Aside.)  Hush,  hush  ! Oh,  yes,  here  I am, 
going  it  again  ! 

(Enter  Fleming  and  Orderly,  r.) 

Fleming.  You  sent  for  me,  General  ? 

Douglas  (to  Fleming).  Yes.  Cure  this  child  instantly. 

Fleming  (inspecting  child  in  Douglas’s  arms).  Poor 
little  chap  ! He  seems  very  weak. 

Douglas.  Well,  Doctor? 

Fleming  (to  Douglas).  The  child  appears  to  be  simply 
suffering  from  lack  of  nourishment — starving.  (Shakes  his 
head.) 

Agnes.  Doctor,  don’t  tell  me  he  will  die. 

Douglas  (gruffly).  Why  should  he  ? Do  you  want  him 
to  tell  a lie  ? (To  Fleming.)  Will  he  live  ? 

(Fleming  nods.) 

Agnes  (eagerly).  Then  you  can  save  his  life. 

Douglas.  Not  unless  you  keep  still  ! Look  at  me  ! (He 
observes  her  intently ; then  the  others .)  That  will  do. 
(Aside.)  They’re  all  suffering  from  the  same  disease — 
hunger.  Thank  Heaven  I know  how  to  cure  that. 

Fleming.  (addressiiig  Agnes)  The  condition  of  your 

68 


BETWEEN  TWO  FOES 


child  is  not  serious,  madam,  and  will  yield  readily  to  sim- 
ple treatment. 

Douglas  (aside).  A square  meal. 

Fleming.  Give  him  plenty  of  nourishing  food— 

Arnold.  Ah,  Doctor,  that  is  the  very  thing  we  have  not 
got. 

Douglas.  Will  you  be  quiet,  sir  ? Go  on,  Doctor. 

Fleming  (writing).  This  prescription  will  be  sufficient. 
( As  if  to  hand  paper  to  Arnold.) 

Douglas.  Let  me  see  it.  (Takes  it  and  reads  aside.) 

Recipe. 

Chicken  Broth  . . 4 oz. 

Beef  tea  . . . . 6 oz. 

Pure  milk  q.  s. — (quantum  suf.) 

Sig. — This  to  be  taken  by  each  patient  in  one  dose,  and 
repeated  as  often  as  possible. 

[Signed.]  George  Fleming, 

Medical  Director,  2d  Div. 

Douglas  ( aside  to  Fleming).  Add  to  that,  Doctor  : “ If 
they  want  anything  else  to  eat  let  ’em  have  it.”  (Fleming 
writes . Douglas  hands  child  to  Agnes.)  Here’s  your 
child,  madam.  Doctor,  will  you  do  me  the  favor  to  see  this 
— prescription  administered  yourself  ? 

Fleming.  With  pleasure,  General.  But  who  are  they? 

Douglas.  The  wife  and  child  of  Colonel  Hastings.  He 
has  never  seen  the  baby. 

Fleming  (aside).  Indeed  ! I think  I can  make  a new 
diagnosis  in  his  case  now.  (To  Agnes.)  This  way, 
madam. 

Agnes.  Ah,  General,  how  can  I ever  thank  you — ? 

Douglas  (gruffly)-  You  can’t  ! Don’t  try  ! Good- 
evening ! (Aside.)  In  another  minute  I shall  be  making  a 
fool  of  myself. 

Agnes.  But  may  I — not  see — Allan — before  I — 

Douglas.  Certainly  not  ! Good-evening  ! The  door 
there,  Orderly. 

Fleming  (at  r.  d.).  Will  you  come  with  me,  madam  ? 

(Exeunt  Kitty,  Agnes  with  child , and  Fleming,  r.,  slowly . 

As  Arnold  starts  to  follow  them , Douglas  stops  him.) 

Douglas.  Stop  ! Where  are  you  going  ? 

Arnold  (surprised).  Dear  me  ! I was  simply  going 
to — 

Douglas.  Well,  I forbid  you.  What  do  you  mean  by 
this  conduct,  sir  ? What  do  you  mean  ? 


BETWEEN  TWO  FOES 


Arnold.  Why — why — really  I — I — don’t — understand. 

Douglas.  Stuff,  sir ! And  nonsense  ! Nonsense,  I 
say  ! Stop  ! Not  another  word.  Why  don’t  you  answer 
my  question  ? 

Arnold.  But  really,  I must  beg  that  you  will — 

Douglas.  Tell  you  I don’t  believe  a word  of  it  ! Con- 
found you,  Harry,  do  you  mean  to  say  you  don’t  remember 
me  ? 

Arnold  ( almost  speechless ).  Dear — me  ! 

Douglas.  Come,  come,  Harry,  this  won’t  do  ! I’m  up 
to  your  little  game.  ( Nudges  him.)  Eh,  eh  ! 

Arnold  (aside).  Bless  my  soul  ! Is  the  man  crazy  ? 
(Aloud.)  Really,  sir,  you  have  the — the  advantage  of  me,  I 
think. 

Douglas.  I know  it.  First  time  in  my  life,  though. 
Harry,  my  boy,  don’t  you  remember  that  tremendous  thrash- 
ing  you  gave  me,  once,  eh  ? 

Arnold  (beginning  to  recognize  ; eagerly).  Yes,  yes  ! I 
al-most  do. 

Douglas  (drily).  I thought  you  would.  Ido — quite.  And 
the  times  when  we  used  to  run  away  from  school  and  go 
swimming  together  ? 

Arnold  (eagerly).  Yes,  yes,  it  al-most  seems  to  me 
that — 

Douglas.  And  the  day  you  pulled  me  out  of  the  water 
and  saved  my  life  ? Don’t  you  remember  that,  Harry,  don’t 
you  remember  that  ? 

Arnold.  Bless  my  soul ! Why,  it’s  little  Jack  Douglas  ! 

(They  embrace  and  laugh  till  their  voices  break  with  emo- 
tion, when  they  turn  away  and  7vipe  their  eyes  fur- 
tively.) 

Douglas.  Yes,  I’m  little  Jack  Douglas,  and  you’re  gay 
young  Harry  Arnold.  (Both  show  emotio)i  again.) 

Arnold.  But  bless  me,  Jack,  how  you  have  grown  in  the 
last  forty  years. 

Douglas.  Fifty  years,  Harry,  fifty. 

Arnold.  So  it  is!  so  it  is!  Fifty  years  ago.  (Wipes 
his  eyes.)  There,  there,  how  silly  I’m  becoming  in  my  old 
age. 

Douglas.  What  of  it  ? Nothing  does  a man  more 
good  than  to  make  a downright  fool  of  himself  now  and 
then.  I’m  always  doing  it.  Doing  it  now,  by  Jove  ! (Emo- 
tion.) 

(They  sit  close  together  at  front.) 

70 


BETWEEN  TWO  FOES 


ARNOLD.  Now,  to  see  us  two  old  fogies  together  at  this 
moment,  Jack,  no  one  would  ever  think  there  had  been  a 
cruel  war — 

Douglas.  Stop,  Harry  ! The  war  is  over  now,  and  we 
must  forget  it.  Come  with  me,  my  boy,  and  we’ll  see  how 
that  blessed  baby  of  ours  is  getting  on,  eh  ? 

Arnold.  Aye,  so  we  will  ! But — er — Jack  ! {Faintly.) 

Douglas.  Eh  ? 

Arnold.  Do  you  think  you  could — spare  me — a — cracker 
— and  a glass  of  water  ? 

Douglas  ( astonished ).  A — what  ? 

Arnold.  I haven’t  eaten  anything  since  yesterday,  and 
I’m  beginning  to  feel  a little — faint. 

Douglas.  Not  a cracker,  sir  ! 

Arnold.  But  Jack — ! 

Douglas.  No,  sir.  You’re  going  to  have  roast  beef,  ter- 
rapin, plum  pudding  and  port  wine.  Come  with  me  ! (. Drag- 
ging him  R.)  How  dare  you  be  hungry  in  my  presence,  sir  ? 
How  dare  you  be — 

( Exeunt  both , l.  Enter  Kitty,  r.) 

Kitty.  Uncle  Henry  not  here  ! {Sits,  R.  F.)  Oh,  I 
wonder  what  has  become  of  poor  Bob.  I haven’t  dared  to 
ask  for  fear  they  should  tell  me  he  was  dead.  {Emotion.) 
Bob  ! Bob  ! My  heart  is  breaking  ! 

{Enter  Stanley,  c.  d.,  in  a very  dilapidated  condition .) 

Stanley  (quietly).  D-did  any  one  c-call  me  just  now  ? 

Kitty.  Bob  ! ( Joyfully. ) Bob  Stanley  ! 

Stanley  {down).  How-de-do,  Miss  Kitty  ? 

Kitty  {to  him  ; affectionately ).  Oh,  Bob,  I'm  so  glad  to 
see  you  ! 

Stanley  {calmly).  Tha-anks.  Awf’ly  kind  of  you, 
weally,  yes. 

Kitty  {more  distantly).  And  I hope  you’re  quite  well  ? 

Stanley.  Oh,  awf’ly  well,  tha-anks.  My  clothes  are  a 
little  dusty,  my  shoes  are  not  twins — I mean  one  of  them 
isn’t — but  the  other  is — I haven’t  eaten  anything  for  three  or 
four — weeks  ; and  I’ve  got  a bullet  in  my  arm  ; but  other- 
wise I’m  feeling  awfly  jolly. 

Kitty  (. sympathetically ).  Oh,  are  you  wounded,  Bob  ? 

Stanley.  Why,  yes,  sometimes  I think  I am.  {Winces 
with  pain.) 

Kitty.  I’m  so  sorry.  Let  me  call  the  surgeon. 

Stanley  {quickly).  No,  thank  you. 

Kitty.  But  he’s  such  a very  nice  old  gentleman. 

7i 


J 


BETWEEN  TWO  FOES 


Stanley.  I can’t  imagine  any  surgeon  being  a nice  old 
gentleman.  B-r-r-r ! {Shudders.) 

Kitty.  Well,  then,  let  me  see  your  arm.  {She  touches 
it ; he  winces  with  pain.)  Oh  ! Did  I hurt  you  ? 

Stanley  {almost  breathless  with  pain).  Oh — h,  no, 
you — you  didn’t — hurt  me — at  all.  I — I rather  like  it — now 
and  then.  Yes. 

{Enter  Fleming,  r.) 

Fleming.  Major  Stanley  ! Alive  ! 

Stanley.  Er — partly. 

{He  groans  as  Fleming  shakes  his  hand.) 

Kitty.  Doctor,  Major  Stanley  is  terribly  wounded,  and 
you  must  examine  his  arm  at  once. 

Fleming.  With  great  pleasure.  {Opens  case  of  instru- 
ments on  table.) 

Stanley.  I say,  look  here,  Doctor,  are  all  those  weapons 
going  to  be  necessary  ? 

Fleming.  Certainly.  Come,  let  me  see  your  arm.  {Rolls 
up  sleeves  and  selects  an  instrument.)  Aha,  my  boy,  we’ll 
soon  fix  you  up. 

Stanley  {to  Kitty).  I say,  Kitty,  I wish  he  wasn’t  so 
deuced  jolly  over  this.  I don’t  see  anything  funny  about  it. 

Fleming.  Come,  come,  which  arm  is  it  ? 

Stanley.  I’m  trying  to  think.  It’s  either  my  wight  or 
— or  my — er — the  other  one.  Try  this.  {He  extends  right 
arml) 

Fleming  {hurriedly  examining  arm).  Why,  there’s  noth- 
ing the  matter  with  this  arm.  What  do  you  mean,  sir  ? 

Stanley.  Thousand  pardons  ! Must  be  the  other.  Try 
this. 

(Stanley  extends  left  arm  on  table.  Kitty  close  to  him  at 

his  right.  During  this  scene  Fleming  is  dressing  the 

wouiid  while  Stanley  is  trying  to  7nake  love  to  Kitty. 

Make  the  surgery  very  realistic .) 

Fleming  {uncovering  arm).  Hm!  hm — ! {Shakes  his 
head.)  Tut,  tut  ! Phew!  {Whistles  softly.) 

Stanley.  What’s  the  matter,  Doctor  ? Did  I hurt  you  ? 

Fleming.  No. 

Stanley.  Pleased  to  hear  it.  Miss  Kitty,  when  a fellah 
— when  a fellah  wants  to  tell  a — {Groans.) 

Fleming.  How  long  ago  were  you  wounded,  Major  ? 

Stanley.  About  a year — I mean  yest.er.day.  (Fleming 
shakes  his  head.)  Why,  did  you  think  it  ought  to  be  longer  ? 
Yes  ? 


73 


BETWEEN  TWO  FOES 


Fleming.  No.  And  has  your  arm  had  no  attention 
meantime  ? 

Stanley.  Well,  rather.  It’s  had  all  my  attention,  every 
living  minute  of  the  time.  (Groans.) 

Kitty  ( sympathetically ).  Oh,  what  is  the  matter  ? 

Stanley.  N-nothing.  I hope  I’m  not  hurting  you  any 
more  than  I can  help,  Doctor. 

Fleming.  This  operation  may  be  a trifle  painful,  Major. 

Stanley  (half  aside).  A twifle  painful  ! Whew  ! 

Fleming.  Perhaps  I’d  better  give  you  chloroform  ? 

Stanley.  No,  talk  to  me.  It’ll  come  to  the  same  thing. 
Yes. 

Fleming.  All  right.  I can  stand  it  if  you  can. 

(He  proceeds  with  the  dressing.) 

Stanley  (groaning).  Ah-h,  Doctor,  every  now  and 
then  I — I know  you’re — there. 

Fleming  (gruffly).  Will  you  be  quiet  ? (Aside.)  Poor 
boy  ! 

Stanley.  Wouldn’t  it  save  trouble  if  you  were  to  cut  it 
off,  you  know  ? 

Kitty  (firmly).  No,  he  shall  not  ! Tell  me  how  you 
escaped,  Bob. 

Stanley.  Oh,  that  was  awf ’ly  easy.  Those  fellahs  over 
there  they  told  me  they  were  goin’  to  shoot  me,  you  know, 
because — because — wait  ! — oh,  yes,  I remember — because  I 
was  another  fellah  altogether — Colonel  Hastings,  don’t  you 
know — and  so  I just  wan  away.  I consider  it  a perfectly 
pwoper  thing,  don’t  you  know,  to — to  wun  away  when  you 
don’t  want  to  be  shot,  don’t  you  ? (Groans.) 

Fleming.  Do  I hurt,  Major? 

Stanley.  No-o,  you  t-tickle.  B-r-r-r ! (Shivers.) 

Kitty.  Well,  and  then  what  ? 

Stanley.  Let’s  see.  Oh,  that’s  all  ; only  while  I was  wun- 
ning  away  some — some  fellahs  fired  off  their  guns  at  me,  and 
hit  me  in  the  arm.  (Groans!)  Won’t  you  twy  the  other  one 
a little  while  now,  Doctor,  and  give  this  a west  ? 

Fleming.  This  does  very  well.  I’m  not  particular. 

Stanley.  Ye-es,  that’s  just  what  I think.  (Very  tender- 
ly.) Er — I say,  Miss  Kitty,  do  you  wemember  that  time  when 
I couldn’t  wemember  the  name  of  the  fellah  in  our  wegiment 
who  was  such  a particularly  big  ass  because  he  fell  in  love 
with  you.  eh  ? 

Kitty.  Yes,  I do.  (Aside.)  He's  going  to  propose  at  last. 

Stanley.  I thought  you  would.  Well,  it’s  awf ’ly  funny, 
don’t  you  know,  but  I can’t  wemember  it  even  yet,  He,  he  J 

73 


BETWEEN  TWO  FOES 


Kitty  {aside).  Oh,  dear,  he’s  so  provoking. 

Fleming  {finishing  operation).  There  you  are,  Major. 
Now  for  a sling. 

Kitty.  Take  this.  {She  hands  Fleming  either  her  hat 
or  apron  ; he  tears  off  strings , etc.,  and  makes  sling. 
Fleming  {finishing  sling).  Can  you  feel  that  now  ? 
Stanley.  Why,  it’s  all  feel,  from  here  to  here.  Am  I 
going  to  lose  it  ? 

Fleming.  Oh,  no,  the  wound  isn’t  very  serious. 

Stanley  {bitterly).  Oh,  isn’t  it  ! Well,  it  has  hurt  enough 
to  be  fatal. 

{Enter  Orderly,  c.  d.) 

Orderly.  General  Douglas’s  compliments,  sir,  and  can 
he  see  you  at  Commissary  headquarters  ? 

Fleming.  Yes — my  compliments — at  once.  (ZltzV  Or- 
derly, c.  d.  Aside  to  Stanley.)  There’s  the  bullet,  Major. 
Keep  it  for  your  children  to  cut  their  teeth  on.  And  if  you 
haven’t  proposed  to  her  by  the  time  I return,  I’ll  operate  on 
your  other  arm. 

Stanley  {to  Fleming).  Faith,  I don’t  know  which  is  the 
worst. 

{Exit  Fleming,  c.  d.  A short  pause,  embarrassed,  follows.) 
Kitty  {sighing).  Oh — dear  ! 

Stanley.  I — I beg  pardon,  but  were  you  speaking  to  me  ? 
Kitty  {mimicking).  I — I beg  pardon,  but  I was  not. 

{Aside).  If  he  would  only  jump  right  up  and  kiss  me,  and  get 
it  over  quick,  it  would  be  a heap  sight  nicer.  For  it’s  got  to 
come. 

{She  rises  and  walks  about  the  stage,  assuming  an  air  of 
great  indifference  and  even  scorn  towards  Stanley,  who 
follows  her  meekly,  a7id  shows  that  he  is  very  much  de - 
pressed.) 

Stanley  {nervously).  Er — Kitty — Kitty. 

Kitty  {coldly).  If  you  were  addressing  me,  sir,  my  name 
is  Miss  Kate  Curtis.  {Aside.)  I allow  that  ought  to  fetch 
him,  straight. 

Stanley  {aside).  Oh,  it’s  no  use  ! She  doesn’t  care  for 
me  ! {Aloud.)  Miss  Curtis — I was  just  going  to — to — say — 
Kitty  {quickly).  What  ? 

Stanley.  G — good-bye  ! 

Kitty.  Oh,  is  that  all  ? Well,  g — good-bye  ! 

(Stanley  takes  a few  steps  towards  c.  d.,  then  staggers.) 
74 


BETWEEN  TWO  FOES 


STANLEY.  Ah  ! My — my  head  ! I’m — I’m  growing — 
faint  ! I’m — falling  ! Kitty  ! I — love — you  ! 

( He  falls  with  a groan , near  c.) 

Kitty  ( springing  to  him).  Oh,  Bob  ! What  is  it  ? Are 
you  hurt  ? He’s  fainted  ! Quick,  some  water  ! 

( She  hurriedly  gets  a pail  of  water  and  a tin  dipper , then 
sits  on  stage , andy  taking  Stanley’s  head  on  her  lap,  pours 
water  over  him , rocking  to  and  fro  in  agitation .) 

Kitty.  Wake  up,  Bob  dear,  wake  up  ! Oh,  there  isn’t 
half  enough  water  here  ! ( Kisses  him.)  Poor  boy  ! How 

I love  him  ! 

Stanley  ( suddenly  sitting  up  and  kissing  her).  Then 
that  makes  it  a stand-off,  Kitty,  for  I love  you,  don’t  you  know. 

(Kitty  is  startled , gives  a little  scream , and  spills  water 
down  Stanley’s  neck . He  shivers  and  sneezes .) 

Kitty.  Oh,  Bob  dear,  are  you  wet  clear  through  ? 
Stanley.  No,  Kitty,  only  to  the  skin.  It  hasn't  got  in- 
side of  that — yet.  ( They  rise.) 

Kitty.  How  funny  you  are  ! Kiss  me,  a sure-enough  one 
this  time. 

Stanley  ( kissing  her).  There,'  that’s  just  right  at  last, 
isn’t  it  ? Yes.  ( Puts  his  well  arm  about  her  waist.) 

Kitty  {demurely).  Well,  you  seem  to  think  it’s  settled, 
anyhow.  But  I say,  Bob  ! 

Stanley.  Well  ? 

Kitty.  It’s  right  lucky  for  you  that  both  your  arms  aren’t 
hurt,  or  where’d  you  be  now,  eh  ? 

Stanley.  Well,  if  you  come  to  that  where’d  you  be  your- 
self? 

Kitty  (with  sigh  of  satisfaction).  Yes,  that’s  certainly 
so.  (Sentimentally .)  Now,  Bob,  what  do  you  want  more 
than  anything  else  in  this  world  ? 

Stanley  (matter-of-fact  tone).  Something  to  eat. 

Kitty.  Oh,  you  poor  boy  ! Of  course  you  do.  Come 
with  me  ! 

(She  drags  him  off,  L.  CURTIS  and  HASTINGS  are  seen  com- 
ing slowly  down  the  stairs.  Curtis  supports  Hastings, 
who  appears  very  weak.  They  pause  a moment  on  the 
landing.) 

Curtis.  Pray  don’t  go  down,  Allan.  You’re  not  strong 
enough  yet. 

Hastings.  I must,  Dick.  (They  descend.)  I must  go  to 

75 


BETWEEN  TWO  FOES 


Agnes — to  my  wife.  (He  sits.)  Did  you  know  I had  a son, 
Dick  ? Such  a brave  little  man  ! God  bless  him  ! I’m  going 
to  find  them  now. 

(He  half  rises , with  difficulty .) 

Curtis.  Let  me  find  them,  Allan. 

Hastings.  No,  no  ! It  will  not  be  the  same.  They  are 
mine — not  yours.  Tell  me,  Dick,  have  you  seen  my  boy  ? 

Curtis.  Yes. 

Hastings.  Does  he  look  like  his  mother  ? It  was  so — so 
dark — that  night  I could  not  tell.  I hope  he  will  look  like  his 
mother,  Dick  ? 

Curtis.  Yes,  but  like  you  too,  Allan. 

Hastings.  I’d  rather  he’d  look  like  Agnes.  Poor  girl  ! 
How  she  has  suffered  ! Will  she  ever  forgive  me  ? Get  me 
a horse,  Dick.  I’m  going  to  find  her. 

Curtis.  You  must  not ! Take  my  advice — 

Hastings  (sternly).  I want  a horse — not  advice. 

Curtis.  Very  well.  (Aside.)  It’s  the  doctor  I’ll  get  for 
him  first. 

(Exit,  C.  D.) 

Hastings  (endeavoring  vainly  to  stand).  How  weak  I 
am  this  evening  ! If  I could  only  see  Agnes  and  our  boy  once 
more  ! (Enter  Agnes,  r.  d.  He  sees  her .)  Agnes  ! Have 
you  come  back  to  me  at  last,  my  darling  ? Come  back  to  me 
at  last  ? 

(Rises  and  sinks  back.) 

Agnes  ( impulsively ).  Allan!  (With  restraint.)  They 
— they  told  me  you  were — very  ill. 

Hastings.  No,  it  is  nothing.  See  ! I am  quite  strong, 
now.  ( Vainly  attempts  to  rise.)  Ah  ! I cannot ! 

(Enter  Douglas  and  Arnold,  l.  d.) 

Agnes  (aside).  How  worn  and  haggard  he  looks  ! It  is 
pitiful  ! Why  cannot  I ask  him  to  forgive  me  ? 

(She  weeps  silently.) 

Douglas  (aside  to  Arnold).  So  they’ve  not  made  it  up 
yet ! I must  see  what  a little  military  strategy  will  do. 
Harry,  do  just  as  I tell  you,  now. 

Arnold.  All  right,  Jack. 

Douglas  (gruffly).  Well,  I have  done  all  I can  for  you 
now,  madam.  You  must  be  outside  the  lines  by  sunset,  We 
allow  no  camp  followers  here. 

7$ 


BETWEEN  TWO  FOES 


ARNOLD  ( bewildered ).  Eh  ! I don’t  understand. 

Douglas.  Don’t  be  a fool,  Harry.  Abuse  me  ! Abuse 
me  like  thunder  ! 

Arnold.  Dear  me  ! I don’t  know  how  ! 

Douglas.  You  must ! 

Arnold  {aside).  This  is  very  distressing ! {Aloud.) 
Sir  ! do  you — you  consider  that  this  is — this  is  manly  or — or 
— I say,  sir,  is  this  manly  or  generous  ? 

Douglas  {to  Arnold).  Ha,  ha ! Go  on  ! Say  it’s 
brutal,  Harry  ! Ha,  ha  ! 

Arnold  {aside).  Oh,  dear  me  ! I can’t ! 

Hastings.  Surely,  General,  you  cannot  mean  to  drive 
these  people  away  from  their  own  home  ? 

Douglas.  I do. 

Hastings.  But  see  ! This  is  Agnes — my  wife.  Can- 
not she  stay  here — with  me  ? 

DOUGLAS.  Certainly  not  ! She  is  no  longer  your  wife. 

Agnes  {aside,  startled).  What  does  he  mean  ? 

Douglas  {to  Arnold),  Aha  ! it  is  working  ! call  me  a 
scoundrel,  Harry  ! Call  me  a damned  scoundrel  ! 

Arnold  {aside).  Bless  my  soul  ! I never  did  such  a 
thing  in  all  my  life  ! {Aloud.)  Sir,  you — you  are  a — a — 
no,  I cannot  do  it. 

Douglas  {to  Agnes).  And  so,  madam,  as  I cannot  per- 
mit anyone  to  remain  here  who  has  no  legal  right,  you  must 
leave  the  camp  at  once,  and — not  return. 

Hastings  {angrily).  General  Douglas,  I protest ! 

Douglas  {sternly).  Colonel  Hastings  ! I order  you  back 
to  bed  under  arrest. 

Hastings.  I will  not  go,  sir.  What  right  have  you  to 
order  my  wife  to  leave  her  own  house  ? 

Douglas.  Pooh  ! pooh  ! Don’t  believe  a word  of  it. 
Good-evening,  madam  ! Orderly,  the  door.  {Aside,  chuck - 
ling.)  Aha  ! the  medicine  is  beginning  to  work  ! Call  me 
an  old  villain,  Harry,  or  we’re  lost. 

Arnold  {hesitatingly).  You — you  old — villain  ! 

Douglas  {to  Arnold).  Ha,  ha ! That’s  right  ! Go 
on  ! 

Arnold.  Would  you — turn  this — this  mother — and  her 
innocent  child — out  of  her  own  house  to  starve,  with  only  a 
— a poor  old  man  to  care  for  them — you — you — monster  ! 

Agnes.  Ah,  General,  be  merciful  ! 

Hastings.  By  Heaven  ! You  shall  stay  here  ! 

Douglas  {aside).  Ha,  ha  ! Capital  ! Come  with  me, 
Harry.  If  she  hasn’t  kissed  him  in  three  minutes  I’m  a real 
villain. 


77 


BETWEEN  TWO  FOES 


(Douglas  and  Arnold  steal  out  l.  d.  Hastings  remains 
silent  a ?noment.) 

Hastings  ( appealingly ).  Agnes,  dear  Agnes,  will  you 
not  forgive  the  past,  and  once  more  say  you  love  me  ? ( She 

weeps  silently .)  Have  you  forgotten  that  day,  dear  love, 
four  long,  sad  years  ago,  when  we  stood  here  in  this  very 
room,  side  by  side,  as  we’re  standing  now — {he  goes  to  her ) 
— and  spoke  together  those  tender  words  that  made  us  man 
and  wife  ? “For  better,  for  worse,  for  richer,  for  poorer,  in 
sickness  and  in  health,  to  love  and  to  cherish,  till  death  do  us 
part.”  You  do  not  answer,  dearest.  Once  more  I lay  at 
your  feet  my  life,  my  love,  my  soul.  Will  you  not  take  me 
back  into  your  heart  again,  my  darling  ? 

(. During  this  speech  he  has  been  gradually  drawing  nearer 
and  7iearer  to  her , and  as  he  finishes  he  stands  looking 
down  into  her  face . She  glances  up  at  him , and  then 
throws  herself  sobbing  on  his  breast .) 

Agnes.  Forgive  me,  Allan.  I love  you  ! I love  you  ! I 
love  you  ! 

Hastings  {kissing  her).  My  own  precious  wife ! At 
last ! 

{Enter  Douglas  and  Arnold,  l.  d.) 

Douglas  {to  Arnold).  Look  there,  Harry  ! Didn’t  I 
tell  you  ? 

Arnold.  Yes,  the  war  is  over  at  last.  You — you  old — 
hard-hearted — God  bless  you,  dear  old  friend  ! God  bless 
everyone. 

{Enter  Orderly,  c.  d.) 

Douglas.  Amen,  Harry,  amen.  {They  shake  ha7ids 
with  much  emotion.)  Orderly,  my  compliments  to  Dr. 
Fleming,  and  say  that  the  consultation  in  the  case  of  Colonel 
Hastings  is  indefinitely  postponed.  He  has  disobeyed  orders 
and  got  well  himself. 

(Douglas  and  Arnold  chuckle.  Orderly  salutes  and 
exit , c.  D.  Music  “ The  Blue  Bells  of  Scotland ,”  is  heard 
without , played  by  a military  band  as  a quickstep.  At 
first  pp,  but  gently  cresce7ido  to  curtain.  E7iter  Curtis, 
R.,  carrying  child , which  looks  much  brighter.) 

Agnes.  Dick  ! my  brother. 

Hastings.  My  son  ! 

{07ie  071  either  side  0/*Curtis.) 

Curtis  {amused).  Well,  which  am  I — brother  or  son  ? 

78 


BETWEEN  TWO  EOES 


(Hastings  takes  the  child  tenderly  in  his  arms.  Agnes  in 
c. ; Curtis  on  her  l.  ; Hastings  on  her  r.  Douglas 
and  Arnold  on  extreme  l.  Agnes  and  Hastings  are 
inspecting  the  baby.) 

Curtis  {to  Douglas).  Yes,  General,  the  war  is  over  for- 
ever and  forever,  and  the  North  and  South  are  united  now  as 
they  have  never  been  united  before — we  are  all  One  People. 


{Enter  Stanley  and  Kitty,  r.) 


Stanley.  Well,  how  about  us  ? Yes  ? 

Kitty.  Yes,  that’s  the  point  now. 

Douglas  {laughing).  Oh,  for  you  there  will  have  to  be  a 
little  private  war,  which  has  only  just  begun. 

Hastings.  And  so,  dear  Agnes,  we  will  begin  life  anew, 
forgetting  and  forgiving  the  past  ? 

Agnes.  Yes,  Allan,  dearest.  For  now,  like  Ruth  of 
olden  time,  I say  again  : Entreat  me  not  to  leave  thee,  or  to 
return  from  following  after  thee  ; for  whither  thou  goest  I 
will  go  ; where  thou  lodgest  I will  lodge  ; thy  people  shall  be 
my  people,  and  thy  God  my  God. 


Agnes 


Stanley 


Hastings 


Kitty 


Douglas 


Curtis 


Arnold 


Slow  Curtain 


79 


Practical  Elocution 


By  J.  W.  Shoemaker,  A.  M. 
300  pages 

Cloth,  Leather  Back,  $1.2$ 

This  work  is  the  outgrowth  of 
actual  class-room  experience,  and  is 
a practical,  common-sense  treatment 
of  the  whole  subject.  It  is  clear  and 
concise,  yet  comprehensive,  and  is 
absolutely  free  from  the  entangling 
technicalities  that  are  so  frequently  found  in  books  of 
this  class. 

Conversation,  which  is  the  basis  of  all  true  Elocution, 
is  regarded  as  embracing  all  the  germs  of  speech  and 
action.  Prominent  attention  is  therefore  given  to  the 
cultivation  of  this  the  most  common  form  of  human  ex- 
pression. 

General  principles  and  practical  processes  are  pre- 
sented for  the  cultivation  of  strength,  purity,  and  flexi* 
bility  of  Voice,  for  the  improvement  of  distinctness  and 
correctness  in  articulation,  and  for  the  development  of 
Soul  power  in  delivery. 

The  work  includes  a systematic  treatment  of  Gesture 
in  its  several  departments  of  position,  facial  expression, 
and  bodily  movement,  a brief  system  of  Gymnastics 
bearing  upon  vocal  development  and  grace  of  move- 
ment, and  also  a chapter  on  Methods  of  Instruction,  for 
teachers. 

Sold  by  all  booksellers,  or  sent,  prepaid,  upon  receipt 
of  price.  ^ V - ..  ::r  / 

The  Penn  Publishing  Company 

923  Arch  Street,  Philadelphia 


SHOEMAKER'S 


The  National  School 

of  Elocution  and  Oratory 


ODD  FELLOWS'  TEMPLE 

Broad  and  Cherry  Streets 

Philadelphia  ‘ 


PERSONS  wishing  to  obtain  practical  training  and 
artistic  culture  in  Elocution  and  Oratory  should 
attend  this  institution. 

It  is  the  oldest  chartered  school  of  expression  in 
America*  'r;. 

Its  students  and  graduates,  numbering  thousands, 
are  to  be  found  in  all  parts  of  this  country  and 
Canada,  occupying  prominent  positions  as  Public 
Readers,  Teachers  of  Elocution,  Clergymen,  Lecturers, 
Actors,  etc. 

Instruction  thorough  in  all  that  pertains  to  a well- 
rounded  elocutionary  education. 

A corps  of  eminent  teachers,  each  a specialist  in  his 
own  department.  All  facilities  first-class. 

In  addition  to  the  regular  Day  Classes  there  are 
special  Evening  and  Saturday  courses. 

Special  Summer  course.  Private  instruction.  Grad- 
uating courses  one  and  two  years.  Illustrated  catalogue 
giving  full  information  sent  on  application. 

MRS.  J.  W.  SHOEMAKER 

Principal 


